


In The Club

by BlameThePlotBunnies



Series: In The Club [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Brothers, Family, Family Drama, Feels, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mpreg, Romance, Teen Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy, teen!lock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-14
Updated: 2014-06-14
Packaged: 2018-02-04 16:31:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 22,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1785826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlameThePlotBunnies/pseuds/BlameThePlotBunnies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>** "Sherls… are you in the club?" Greg asked, in a low and gentle voice, a little like the one in which he had spoken to him that night when they were…</p><p>Shaking the thought from his head, Sherlock looked stricken for a moment, then replied, "Don't worry, I shan't be for much longer."</p><p>"You're… you're going to get rid of it?" Sherlock knew immediately that it had been the wrong thing to say. Greg looked as though he'd been kicked in the stomach. Twice. "Were you even going to talk to me?" The older boy demanded, wide eyed and serious faced.</p><p>Sherlock shrugged "What is there to talk about? It's practically taken care of." **</p><p>WARNINGS: MPREG. M/M. TEEN PREGNANCY.</p><p>Beta (and cover art when I've figured out how to put it in) by the amazing Capoeri, the John to my Sherlock, who this fic would never have made it so far without ;) Thanks for all the help and encouragement pet! :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Capoeri](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Capoeri).



> A/N Okay, I wrote this using the alpha/beta/omega dynamics... which I know naff all about if I'm honest, so it's more my version of the dynamics. This is my first foray into these dynamics, teenlock and mpreg, all at once, (feeling brave here!), so please be nice!
> 
> Oh, and the Holmes boys get along in this one... I know, mad right? ;)

Sherlock Holmes was seventeen years old. He was also an omega, much to his parents' horror. And when he said 'horror', he meant 'horror'. They'd schooled it into him since the day he'd presented at fifteen: don't have sex. No exceptions.

His brother, older and wiser than him at twenty-four - not to mention out from under Mummy's beady eye - had been providing him with contraceptives in secret ever since. 'Just in case', Mycroft had said the first time. Sherlock had known his brother would understand. Mycroft was a beta but he knew enough about omega physiology to know that Sherlock would relieve the discomfort of his heat at some point. 'You should have a choice to be safe about it', he'd said when they'd talked about it in more depth - the first time Sherlock had stayed with him at his London flat.

Mycroft was the one person he trusted enough to go to for advice. So when he found himself with a problem of a kind that only an omega could have, Sherlock did what was, to his mind at least, the only thing he could do. He got on a train to London and got a cab from King's Cross to his brother's office. He let himself in with a pass card Mycroft had given him 'for emergencies' and hurried past the deserted reception desk. He stabbed impatiently at the lift button for the fourth floor.

Mycroft's office was the fourth door on the left; standing outside, Sherlock took a deep breath - and then two more for good measure - then knocked.

"Come." Instructed his brother's, slightly peeved, voice. Sherlock entered, swallowing nervously. Of course, he thought as he entered and discovered why his brother had sounded peeved, of course he was in a meeting. He needn't have worried though, the moment Mycroft saw that it was him, all annoyance receded from his features to be replaced in turn by surprise, then delight, followed promptly by a hint of worry.

"Sherlock!" He exclaimed "What on earth are you doing here?"

"I need to speak with you. Urgently." He cast a glance at his brother's companions "And privately." He added.

"Of course." Mycroft said, looking a shade more worried as he nodded towards a door that, Sherlock knew, lead into a small seating area that doubled as Mycroft's bedroom when he was extremely busy. That was more often than not these days. "I shall join you presently." Sherlock nodded smartly once and headed into the next room, where he sat and fretted for nearly fifteen minutes before his brother at last entered.

"Brother-mine, what on earth is wrong?" He exclaimed, immediately upon closing the door behind him.

Sherlock opened his mouth and froze. Where the hell did he start?

"I find the beginning is always an excellent place to begin a tale." Mycroft said, softly, as though he'd read his brother's mind.

Sherlock watched as Mycroft settled himself in the armchair opposite him and then, slowly, he began - as suggested - at the beginning. "I've been using… those things you get me." He began, awkwardly

"You are at perfect liberty to do so, Sherlock." Mycroft replied, smiling slightly. "I am, however, glad to hear you're being responsible about safety." Sherlock blanched. Mycroft hadn't noticed. Well, if his brother hadn't noticed, at least he could hope to fool Mummy and Daddy for a while longer, he thought, desperately trying to stay positive. "Who is he?"

Sherlock licked his lips. "His name is Greg."

"Not Greg as in the Greg you've had a crush on since primary school?" Mycroft asked, grinning

"That's him." Sherlock confirmed, quickly. "There was a party."

"Oh?" A slight frown creased his brother's brow at this.

"We… went together. I swear I'd taken my pill, I wasn't in heat or anything. "

"Then I see no problem." Mycroft replied, shrugging patiently.

Sherlock licked his lips again. "I haven't had a heat since." He confessed, finally.

Mycroft's face was smooth, his voice perfectly calm as he replied: "You're pregnant."

Sherlock refused to meet his gaze, preferring instead to gaze at the plush red carpet as he nodded the affirmative.

"Sherlock. Look at me please."

Sherlock complied, reluctantly.

"It will all be okay. I promise you that much." Mycroft said, earnestly, leaning forward in his chair to take both of his brother's hands in his own reassuringly.

"Mummy and Daddy-" Sherlock began

"Will have their own opinion," Mycroft cut in smoothly "to which they are entitled. What it is, however, is not relevant."

Sherlock looked up in surprise "It isn't?"

"Not in the slightest." Mycroft assured him, gently. "Now, have you told him? Greg I mean."

Sherlock shook his head. "It was a once off, we were drunk and everyone was doing it. He won't want to know."

"Sherlock! What have I told you? Drinking alcohol negates the pill!"

"You never-" Sherlock paused "Okay, I may have deleted it." He said, thoughtfully.

"Well for goodness sake recover it this instant! Dear lord!" Mycroft replied, pinching the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb for a moment "Now, I advise you to tell him, soon, before he finds out by some other means."

"I-"

"Sherlock, wouldn't you want to know? If you were in his shoes?"

"I suppose." Sherlock allowed, grudgingly

"Then you must tell him. If he wants nothing to do with it, then that is his decision, but it is not one that you can make for him. He must be given the choice."

"You're assuming that I'm keeping it."

Mycroft looked at him sharply "Aren't you?"

"I don't know." Sherlock admitted, quietly "It's what Mummy will want."

"And I have told you it makes no difference! You must make your decision, whatever it may be, because this is your body and your baby. Leave Mummy and Daddy to me."

"But they'll-"

"Leave them to me." Mycroft repeated, firmly. "Now, how far overdue are you?"

"Three weeks, but it's five since the party."

"Then we still have some time until the decision is no longer yours. I suggest that you make up your mind as soon as possible. At that point we can make any necessary arrangements."

"I can't raise it alone Myc."

"You don't yet know that you'll have to."

"We can pretty safely assume. Could you arrange it?"

"Arrange it?"

"You know…"

"An abortion?"

"Mmm." Sherlock replied, fiddling with a stray thread on the sleeve of his tan jacket.

"I could," Mycroft said, reluctantly, "if necessary."

"Will you, please?"

"Sherlock, if you cannot say the word, how can you expect to fare undergoing such a procedure?"

"Abortion." Sherlock replied coldly, his voice emotionless.

Mycroft surveyed him for a moment, almost sadly. "Very well, if you wish, I shall arrange it."

"Good."

"You still must tell him Sherlock."

"Let me worry about that." Sherlock insisted.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ** "Sherls… are you in the club?" Greg asked, in a low and gentle voice, a little like the one in which he had spoken to him that night when they were…
> 
> Shaking the thought from his head, Sherlock looked stricken for a moment, then replied, "Don't worry, I shan't be for much longer."
> 
> "You're… you're going to get rid of it?" Sherlock knew immediately that it had been the wrong thing to say. Greg looked as though he'd been kicked in the stomach. Twice. "Were you even going to talk to me?" The older boy demanded, wide eyed and serious faced.
> 
> Sherlock shrugged "What is there to talk about? It's practically taken care of." **
> 
> WARNINGS: MPREG. M/M. TEEN PREGNANCY.
> 
> Beta (and cover art when I've figured out how to put it in) by the amazing Capoeri, the John to my Sherlock, who this fic would never have made it so far without ;) Thanks for all the help and encouragement pet! :)

It was some time before Mycroft could arrange the abortion. Finding a reputable doctor willing to perform that kind of procedure on someone of Sherlock's bloodlines was difficult, no matter what fee was offered. In spite of this, Mycroft had to admit - although never to Sherlock - that he could have arranged it faster. He couldn't help feeling that, although his brother clearly had no intention of telling the father, the boy deserved a chance to know, even if it meant finding out by himself. The input of Greg - whom Mycroft had had vetted the moment Sherlock left his office that evening - would probably at least prompt his brother to think about his plans a little more carefully, to be sure of his actions, instead of making panicky decisions.

Sherlock bumped into Greg in the car park on the way out of school about three weeks later.

"Sherls!" Greg called, jogging across from where he'd parked his motorbike - Sherlock couldn't help but notice he was all clad in those figure-hugging leathers again - "Hey ya! Long time no see, where have you been hiding yours-" Greg broke off suddenly, his nostrils flaring.

How could he have forgotten? Sherlock chastised himself. How could he have forgotten that alpha's could smell pregnancy hormones, and even their own DNA? How?

"Sherls… are you in the club?" Greg asked, in a low and gentle voice, a little like the one in which he had spoken to him that night when they were…

Shaking the thought from his head, Sherlock looked stricken for a moment, then replied, "Don't worry, I shan't be for much longer."

"You're… you're going to get rid of it?" Sherlock knew immediately that it had been the wrong thing to say. Greg looked as though he'd been kicked in the stomach. Twice. "Were you even going to talk to me?" The older boy demanded, wide eyed and serious faced.

Sherlock shrugged "What is there to talk about? It's practically taken care of."

"Don't you want it?"

"It's impractical." Sherlock replied, avoiding Greg's gaze.

"Course it is." Greg replied, hollowly, his eyes showing disbelief.

"Neither of us is ready for this."

"Speak for yourself."

"In this world, I have to." Sherlock replied, quietly, finally seeking out the other boy's eyes "No one else will."

Greg stared at him for the longest time, resignation barely concealing the hurt in his eyes. Something like guilt stirred in Sherlock's chest, but what else could he do?

"I guess it's your decision." Greg said, eventually. "But if you change your mind-" Sherlock glared and Greg held his hands up in a mock surrender gesture "I'm not saying you will, but if you do, come and tell me, yeah?"

Sherlock nodded once, a brisk acknowledgement of understanding and nothing more. His face was emotionless, blank. "Well, I'll see you around." He said, turning to go

Suddenly Greg thought of something. "Do you want me to come with you?"

Sherlock half-turned back "Sorry?"

"When you go to… you know."

"Do you want to?" Sherlock asked, looking surprised.

"If you want me there."

"Why would I want you there?" Sherlock asked, winced and blushed "That didn't come out right."

"It's okay. I dunno… moral support I s'pose. It's supposed to be scary, isn't it?"

Sherlock nodded, "Very well then. I'll let you know when it is."

"Okay."

Sherlock hesitated before asking "You want me to keep him, don't you?"

"I… him?" Greg queried

"It. Whatever."

"Why him though?"

"Him, her, it, what's the difference?"

"There isn't one, I s'pose…" Greg said, but he gave him an odd look "I won't lie, I'd be happy to have a kid now, yeah, but I also want you, and if you're not ready, then I don't wanna force you."

"You want me?"

"Well… yeah. Wait, you didn't think- I don't do that with just anybody Sherls." He finished, with a tiny embarrassed smile on his face

"You really want… me?"

"Yeah. Have done since I met you."

"Even though I'm going to…"

"Yeah." Greg replied, softly, nodding and chewing on his lip, the way he always did when he was nervous.

"Oh."

"So… do you wanna give it a go? Us."

"I'll make mistakes." Sherlock warned

"So will I." Greg shrugged

"I'm hard and cold." Sherlock added

"You could've fooled me the other night. Hard maybe, but cold… uh-uh." Greg replied shaking his head with a slight smiled.

Sherlock blushed furiously. "Well okay then."

"Is that a yes?"

"Yes."

"Does it change anything?"

"No."

"No. I didn't think so."

"Goodnight Greg."

"Night Sherlock."


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ** "Sherls… are you in the club?" Greg asked, in a low and gentle voice, a little like the one in which he had spoken to him that night when they were…  
> Shaking the thought from his head, Sherlock looked stricken for a moment, then replied, "Don't worry, I shan't be for much longer."  
> "You're… you're going to get rid of it?" Sherlock knew immediately that it had been the wrong thing to say. Greg looked as though he'd been kicked in the stomach. Twice. "Were you even going to talk to me?" The older boy demanded, wide eyed and serious faced.  
> Sherlock shrugged "What is there to talk about? It's practically taken care of." **
> 
> WARNINGS: MPREG. M/M. TEEN PREGNANCY.
> 
> Beta (and cover art when I've figured out how to put it in) by the amazing Capoeri, the John to my Sherlock, who this fic would never have made it so far without ;) Thanks for all the help and encouragement pet! :)

Centralised text is a text conversation.  _This is Mycroft. **This is Sherlock.**_

* * *

Sherlock lay in the dark that night, tossing and turning in his four-poster bed, unable to sleep. He wanted to feel happy, and a part of him did. The part that had wanted Greg to notice him since he was ten. Greg's words kept floating in his head though, and not the ones he wanted to listen to again

_"It's supposed to be scary isn't it?"_

_"I won't lie, I'd be happy to have a kid now, yeah."_

_"Him? Why him?"_

And that was the bit that had really gotten to him. Why him? Why had that word slipped from his mouth? This  _thing_  was too young to have a gender, but suddenly he was certain it was a him. Why did he have to be certain about that? Personifying  _it_  was only going to make it harder to do this. Wait, harder? It wasn't going to be hard to do this was it? It was the logical option. Of course it wasn't going to be hard… was it?

He tossed and turned until well into the early hours of the next morning before he finally dropped off into a restless sleep, punctuated by dreams of hospitals and surgeons and images of Greg's pained face when he'd said he wouldn't be 'in the club' much longer. All in all he was glad to get out of bed the next morning.

Or so he thought, until about half past ten, when his text alert sounded. For the first time in his memory, his heart sank when he saw it was Mycroft. He forced himself to open it anyway. This was what he wanted.

_10.28am It's all set. 6.30pm. I'll pick you up at 6. Pack a bag, they'll keep you overnight._

This was what he wanted. So why had his heart sunk even lower?

* * *

 

The gown felt odd against his skin, and Greg had only partly been right, it wasn't just scary, it was terrifying. He would have traded the world to have texted Greg to meet him the way he'd said he would now. He longed for a warm leather and apple shampoo scented hug. He longed for a smile. He longed for anything but the cold steel of the table against his back and all these people in scrubs and masks coming and going.

The latest one stepped through the door and addressed him, brightly. Too brightly for that kind of procedure, Sherlock thought. "Mr. Holmes." The doctor said with a smile that didn't reach his grey eyes. "I'm Dr Drayson and I'll be performing your procedure today. Has a nurse explained the procedure to you?" Sherlock nodded, mutely. "Good. Well, we're all set to begin." The doctor said, sitting himself down on a stool next to the table. "Now you have nothing to worry about, just sit back and relax, and when you're ready, we'll begin." Sherlock sat for a minute. Then two. Then three. Then he realised what he longed for the most. He rest a hand on his belly for a moment. It hadn't changed shape yet, but it would he knew. He looked up at the doctor, suddenly

"I'm sorry Dr. I've wasted your time." He said, sitting up and sliding off the table.

 

_8.22pm: Sherlock. Where are you? They said you changed your mind. Why didn't you call me?_

_8:40pm: Sherlock, answer my calls, where are you?_

_9.02pm: Just let me know that you're safe, Sherlock, please!_

_9.25pm: Sherlock for god's sake!_

 


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ** "Sherls… are you in the club?" Greg asked, in a low and gentle voice, a little like the one in which he had spoken to him that night when they were…  
> Shaking the thought from his head, Sherlock looked stricken for a moment, then replied, "Don't worry, I shan't be for much longer."  
> "You're… you're going to get rid of it?" Sherlock knew immediately that it had been the wrong thing to say. Greg looked as though he'd been kicked in the stomach. Twice. "Were you even going to talk to me?" The older boy demanded, wide eyed and serious faced.  
> Sherlock shrugged "What is there to talk about? It's practically taken care of." **
> 
> WARNINGS: MPREG. M/M. TEEN PREGNANCY.
> 
> Beta (and cover art when I've figured out how to put it in) by the amazing Capoeri, the John to my Sherlock, who this fic would never have made it so far without ;) Thanks for all the help and encouragement pet! :)

"Sherlock!" Greg exclaimed, as he opened the front door. "What are you doing he- what the hell kind of top are you wearing?" He said, referring to the blue…  _thing_  tucked into Sherlock's usual skinny jeans

"It's a hospital gown, and it's actually quite cold out here."

"Come in." Greg replied hurriedly, stepping out of the way.

"Greg?" Called a woman's voice "Who is it?"

"Um, it's Sherlock mum." Greg called back, shoving the door closed and gesturing up the stairs "I'm first on the right, why are you wearing a hospital gown?"

"I didn't text you."

"What? But you're still… aren't you?"

Sherlock nodded

"You want me to come with you now, is that it?" He asked as Sherlock sat on his bed and he dropped into his desk chair.

"No, it's just… It's complicated."

"Right, well, if it's complicated, do you want a top and a cuppa before we start?"

"Please."

Greg stood up and began rummaging in the chest of drawers behind the door. After a moment or two, he produced a bottle green hoodie with a green-day logo splashed across the front and a pac-man t-shirt "Might be a bit big." He said, apologetically, as he handed them to Sherlock who swiftly stripped off his usual brown suede jacket

"Um, could you-?" He gestured at the ties on the back of his gown which Greg quickly unlaced for him, before disappearing downstairs to make some tea.

* * *

"So. Who's Sherlock?" Greg's mother pounced on him as he walked into the kitchen.

"He's that omega I told you about." Greg replied shortly, quickly flicking the kettle on and grabbing mugs out of the cupboard

"Ooh yes, I remember. So, are you two together now then? Is this a booty call?" She winked

"Muuum!" Greg groaned "No! Well… yes, we're together, but no! With you guys here? No!"

"Well we wouldn't disturb you sweetheart!"

"Mum. No. Stop. Now." Greg said, his cheeks scarlet

"Alright alright, I'm only teasing. I just know you're all grown up now, my little boy."

"Maybe more than you know." He muttered, as he spooned sugar into the mugs.

"And what's that supposed to mean, mister?" She said, resting her hands on her hips and giving him that look that said, 'it doesn't matter how grown up you are, I am still your mum and you're never too old for a clip round the ear!'… although admittedly these days, she'd probably have to stand on a chair to reach his ear, what with him being a good foot taller than her and all.

"Just let me talk to Sherlock, then I'll be able to explain." He said, grabbing the mugs and sidestepping past her out of the kitchen.

* * *

 

"Tea up!" Greg said, by way of a greeting as he entered the room. Sherlock was laying on his back on the bed, dressed in Greg's jumper now, the hem reaching the middle of his thighs and the sleeves covering his hands. He scrambled into a sitting position.

"Thanks." He said, taking the mug Greg proffered, which was blue and bore a Tetley's logo. "Who's that?" He nodded at the picture on Greg's desk, as Greg sat back down in the desk chair. He glanced at the silver framed photo of him and a young girl with the same beaming smile as his.

"That? That's Molly, my baby sister. We went to a funfair last summer."

"She has your smile."

"Yeah, is a family thing. Look, Sherls…" He tailed off awkwardly

"Why did I turn up on your doorstep in a hospital gown?"

"Well, yeah."

"You asked me if I wanted you to come with me."

"Yeah. Of course I will, if that's what you want."

"Well it's not what I want."

"O-kaay…" Greg looked confused and a little hurt.

"Only because I'm not going."

"You mean-?"

"I mean I went and they were about to start and suddenly all I wanted was to hold my baby in my arms, so I did a bunk."

"Sherls, that's…" Suddenly Greg gave him that grin, the one that had hooked him in the first place. "That's fantastic!" He scrambled out of the chair and on to the bed, leaning in to hug him close. For a moment Sherlock hesitated, as though uncertain, then he wrapped his arms around Greg and buried his face in the older boy's shoulder.

* * *

 

**_9.36pm: Mycroft, I'm fine, stop panicking, you're getting worse than Mummy. - SH_ **

_9.37pm: Where in the name of god are you?!_

**_9.39pm: Greg's. - SH_ **

_9.40pm: Would it really have inconvenienced you to reply to my texts?_

**_9.43pm: Yes. I was busy explaining how I'm now actually going to have his babies. - SH_ **

_9.44pm: Good lord, at last!_

_9.45pm: Wait, babies? Plural?_

_9.56pm: Sherlock Holmes, answer me this instant!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahha! Now be honest, you weren't expecting that were you? ;) No. Neither was Mycroft, obviously.


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ** "Sherls… are you in the club?" Greg asked, in a low and gentle voice, a little like the one in which he had spoken to him that night when they were…  
> Shaking the thought from his head, Sherlock looked stricken for a moment, then replied, "Don't worry, I shan't be for much longer."  
> "You're… you're going to get rid of it?" Sherlock knew immediately that it had been the wrong thing to say. Greg looked as though he'd been kicked in the stomach. Twice. "Were you even going to talk to me?" The older boy demanded, wide eyed and serious faced.  
> Sherlock shrugged "What is there to talk about? It's practically taken care of." **
> 
> WARNINGS: MPREG. M/M. TEEN PREGNANCY.
> 
> Beta (and cover art when I've figured out how to put it in) by the amazing Capoeri, the John to my Sherlock, who this fic would never have made it so far without ;) Thanks for all the help and encouragement pet! :)

"Umm… Greg…" Sherlock said, looking up from where he was snuggled on his side against Greg's chest, phone in his hand. They'd both been lying on his bed for the last fifteen minutes and it was only now that something occurred to Sherlock

"Hmm?" A slightly sleepy looking Greg replied, opening his eyes.

"I forgot to mention something… They did some checks while I was there… heartbeat and all that."

"Oh yeah?"

"Mmm… there's two."

"What?"

"Heartbeats."

Greg stared at him for a moment. "So let me get this straight, you're either telling me we're going to have a timelord-" Sherlock rolled his eyes, a small smile creeping onto his face. "or, you've got twins in there."

"Twins."

"I'd guessed." Greg looked thoughtful for a moment "You know what?"

"What?"

"That's fantastic too!" He grinned, hugging Sherlock tighter to him

"Yeah." Sherlock agreed, hugging him back.

* * *

 

**_10.02pm: I'm having twins. And apparently it's 'fantastic'… - SH_ **

_10.03pm: Congratulations?_

**_10.04pm: Yes, thank you. - SH_ **

**_10.05pm: What the hell am I going to tell Mummy and Daddy? - SH_ **

_10.06pm: I suggest you tell them they're going to be grandparents._

**_10.07pm: Apparently we're telling Greg's mum now… Oh hell. - SH_ **

* * *

 

"Are you going to explain now?" Were the first words out of Greg's mother's mouth when he walked into the sitting room towing a very nervous looking Sherlock by the hand.

"Mum, I'm going to be a dad." Greg replied.

"So this  _was_  a booty call?" She said, smiling cheekily.

"Muuum!" Greg exclaimed, indignantly "I'm trying to be serious here!"

"Ooh, pardon me for trying to lighten the mood." She said, swatting him. "Sherlock dear," She said, turning to him "the one thing you need to know about my Greg is that he was born thirty. If there was anyone I expected to be having babies at this age it was him. Always playing will Molly's dolls weren't you?"

"Muuum!" Greg groaned again

Sherlock grinned at the image, but frowned again almost immediately "This should be more of a challenge. You see, Mrs. Lestrade, I'm actually having twins."

"Oh it's Lauren dear, and that's lovely news! Two bonny little babes, they're bound to be bonny, just look at the pair of you!" Greg face-palmed, Sherlock blushed. Lauren Lestrade laughed, "Ooh sit down, you two, let's talk babies!"

* * *

 

**_11.12pm: That was remarkably painless. Staying the night. - SH_ **


	6. Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ** "Sherls… are you in the club?" Greg asked, in a low and gentle voice, a little like the one in which he had spoken to him that night when they were…  
> Shaking the thought from his head, Sherlock looked stricken for a moment, then replied, "Don't worry, I shan't be for much longer."  
> "You're… you're going to get rid of it?" Sherlock knew immediately that it had been the wrong thing to say. Greg looked as though he'd been kicked in the stomach. Twice. "Were you even going to talk to me?" The older boy demanded, wide eyed and serious faced.  
> Sherlock shrugged "What is there to talk about? It's practically taken care of." **
> 
> WARNINGS: MPREG. M/M. TEEN PREGNANCY.
> 
> Beta (and cover art when I've figured out how to put it in) by the amazing Capoeri, the John to my Sherlock, who this fic would never have made it so far without ;) Thanks for all the help and encouragement pet! :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a bit of swearing, if that's a big deal to anyone. Just thought I'd warn you. ;)

Sherlock had returned to his parents' at about half past five on Sunday afternoon, just as he would have done if he had actually been staying with Mycroft for the weekend, as he had originally told his mother he was. Mycroft has had a car pick him up from the end of Greg's street for the sake of appearances. After delivering a cursory 'Good evening, Mummy-dear' to his mother in the drawing room, he had retreated upstairs and locked himself in his bedroom. He reached for his violin, thoughtfully, and started upon a long and soothing piece of his own composition. Classical music was supposed to be good for child development, wasn't it? And even if it wasn't, he conceded, it was doing his nerves the power of good.

It was a short-lived relief however, although he was not aware of this fact when his text alert first sounded.

_5.58pm: Sherlock, I have news._

**_5.59pm: Well get on with it then - SH_ **

_6.00pm: Brace yourself. Daddy will be home on Monday evening._

 

No.

 

 

No.

 

 

No.

 

 

His father was an alpha. He would  _know_. Sherlock wouldn't have to tell him that he was pregnant - that was a blessing at least, but it was about the only one. Daddy would be so sweet, so very, very sweet about it.

At first…

He would say it was fine, then that he'd 'sort it'. Sherlock wasn't stupid, he knew what that meant, and he wasn't going to be able to stay silent about having run out on his abortion.

If he did, his father would find out the moment he tried to arrange another one anyway.

And then there was the small matter of Greg. He would want to be there, and god knew, Sherlock was going to bloody-well need him there, but he was going to be about as welcome at Holmes Manor as… well, something really, really unwelcome.

And then there was the other thing. The big thing. The big thing he'd never told his parents about. The preference thing. That was going to be blatantly obvious when they saw Greg. No one in their right mind could mistake  _him_  for a girl.

 

 

Oh God.

 

 

Oh Christ.

 

 

Oh Jesus-fuck-no.

 

He couldn't breathe. The room was spinning. The bow he'd still been holding loosely in one hand slipped from his numb fingertips and clattered to the floor. The noise was muffled in his head, as though someone had clapped their hands over his ears - as his mother used to do when he was small she thought he was too young to hear something - not quite totally blocking out the sounds.

Everything seemed unreal.

Nerveless fingers slithered on the buttons of his phone.

 

Reply? No.

 

Back? Yes, home screen.

 

Contacts.

 

G.

 

G for Greg. Yes.

 

Greg. Dial.

 

Dailling…

 

Please answer.

 

 

_Riiiing-Riiiing_

 

 

Please.

 

 

_Riiiing-Riiiing_

 

 

Please.

 

 

 _Riiiing-Rii-_ "Hello?"

And suddenly the reality came crashing back in and he was sobbing. Sobbing-gasping-choking-howling.

"Sherls?" Greg's voice asked, urgently, worriedly. "Sherls, what is it? What? Tell me, please. Please, tell me." With every word Greg sound more frantic. "Sherls, talk to me! Sherls… please, you're scaring me… Look, are you home? I'll come over, I'll- Sherls, whatever's happened, it's okay, I promise. I promise it's going to be okay. I'm on my way over, okay?"

"N-no!" Sherlock choked finally

"No?"

"You c-can't… I-I'll meet you. At the m-memorial." Sherlock scrambled off of his bed and without even pausing to grab a jacket or wipe his face, he slipped out across the landing, dashed down the servants' stairs and out through the mercifully empty kitchen.

"Okay, but… do they know Sherls? Did they find out?"

"N-no." Sherlock hiccupped. "B-but they w-will." He shivered slightly as a cold wind sliced through him. He glanced down. He was wearing one of his usual thin white collared shirts. He wished he'd stayed wearing Greg's hoodie. Sod appearances, it would have been warm, and it smelled like Greg. He sniffed hard, making an effort to pull himself together. He'd be in Greg's arms soon enough, he told himself, squaring his shoulders as he crossed the road and took the road into the village. "Daddy's coming home early." He said, matter-of-factly.

"When, love?"

"Tomorrow." Sherlock couldn't keep his voice from shaking as much as his hands were.

"Tomo- Christ that's soon."

"Very." Sherlock replied hearing a slightly manic giggle escape his mouth. He was unable to stop more hot tears spurting down his cheeks, even as he struggled to get himself in check.

"Where are you?"

"T-turn around." Sherlock replied, shivering again. Stupid wind, he thought savagely, shoving his phone away and curling his arms around his middle as he made his way across the cobbled village square towards the leather and denim clad figure by the memorial.

Greg pushed away from the memorial, which he had been half sitting, half leaning on with his hands plunged deep into the pockets of his leather jacket, and turned to see his Sherlock hurrying towards him, dressed only in his shirtsleeves and black dress trousers, hunched up with his arms wrapped around his midriff and his head down. Greg didn't think twice, just slipped his jacket off and, as soon as Sherlock was in reach, wrapped it around him. Sherlock shoved his arms down the sleeves then leant into Greg, who enveloped him in a huge hug and buried his face in Sherlock's ebony curls.

"It's okay, Sherls." He murmured, reassuringly.

"Is it?" Sherlock replied, in a choked voice, keeping his face hidden in the front of Greg's hoodie.

"Of course. I'll be there with you."

Sherlock looked at him and then away again quickly.

Greg caught the look "What? What's the matter."

"They don't know I'm… y'know." Greg looked confused "Into boys."

"Ah. So basically it's gonna be 'Hi Daddy, welcome home, this is Greg, my boyfriend. Yep, I'm gay, and guess what? I'm gonna have his babies too', is it?"

"Pretty much." Sherlock replied, burying his face in Greg's hoodie again as a fresh wave of tears swept over him.

"Sh-shh." Greg soothed, petting his hair. "It'll go okay." Sherlock snorted "They might surprise you." Greg tried again. Sherlock snorted again. "You  _are_ their son, after all Sherls." At this Sherlock looked up, sniffing hard and wiping his face.

His voice was hard and his eyes were cold as he said: "I'm an omega, and I'm pregnant. They disliked me for the first. I really doubt the second is going to suddenly endear them to me." He returned his face to Greg's hoodie again.

"If they're that prejudice Sherls, then fuck 'em." Greg resumed his hair-petting "We don't need 'em. I'm on the council's housing list, and Mum says you're welcome at ours for as long as you like, or 'til we get ourselves sorted with a flat, whichever comes first."

Sherlock looked up at him, completely distracted from everything, including his tears. "You're actually really serious about this aren't you?"

"Us living together? Yeah, course."

Sherlock gave him a watery smile. "That's the best thing I've heard all day."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never intended this bit to be so drawn out, but it got away from me... blame the plot bunnies. It's my name for a reason ;)


	7. Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ** "Sherls… are you in the club?" Greg asked, in a low and gentle voice, a little like the one in which he had spoken to him that night when they were…  
> Shaking the thought from his head, Sherlock looked stricken for a moment, then replied, "Don't worry, I shan't be for much longer."  
> "You're… you're going to get rid of it?" Sherlock knew immediately that it had been the wrong thing to say. Greg looked as though he'd been kicked in the stomach. Twice. "Were you even going to talk to me?" The older boy demanded, wide eyed and serious faced.  
> Sherlock shrugged "What is there to talk about? It's practically taken care of." **
> 
> WARNINGS: MPREG. M/M. TEEN PREGNANCY.
> 
> Beta (and cover art when I've figured out how to put it in) by the amazing Capoeri, the John to my Sherlock, who this fic would never have made it so far without ;) Thanks for all the help and encouragement pet! :)

**_7.52pm: Apologies for the wait, Greg wasn't around to brace myself on, so I had to go and meet him. - SH_ **

_7.53pm: I was aware. Big Brother has eyes everywhere. Are you okay, Lockie?_

**_7.55pm: I'm better than I was. I snuck Greg in up the backstairs. Is that bad? - SH_ **

_7.56pm: I am reassured that you are a relatively normal teenager. I will be returning with Daddy tomorrow._

**_8.00pm: And if my… news, goes down badly..? - SH_ **

_8.01pm: Then we leave together, brother-mine._

**_8.02pm: I'll pack a bag - SH_ **

_8.03pm: Pessimism in one so young? Such a waste..._

**_8.04pm: Not pessimism, realism. - SH_ **

_8.05pm: Hm. Perhaps._

**_8.12pm: Bag packed. That was easy. - SH_ **

**_8.13pm: Would it be bad if Greg stayed the night? - SH_ **

**_8.16pm: Never mind. He's staying anyway. - SH_ **

_8.17pm: I am unsurprised._

**_8.18pm: Goodnight, Mycroft. - SH_ **

_8.22pm: Sleep well, Sherlock._

* * *

 

Sherlock fell asleep far quicker burrowed into Greg's chest than he had the last night he had slept in this bed, despite his remaining problems, and slept far more soundly too. He awoke early. Early enough for it to still be dark outside. He shifted a little and Greg's arm tightened around him.

"Did I wake you?" Sherlock murmured, apologetically,

"Nah. Was just thinking."

"About what?"

"Hm? Oh. Just making plans. How we can get stuff on the cheap, where I can apply for a full time job, that kind of thing."

"You have a job, though."

"Mm, don't think part-timing in the petrol station shop is gonna keep us Sherls. There's the supermarkets, I spose. Maybe some bar work 'til they're born, as a bit of a top up."

"Is that what you really want to do?"

"It'll do 'til something better comes along."

"What do you want to do though? In an ideal world I mean."

Greg was silent for a few minutes. "I think," he said eventually "I think I'd like to be a policeman."

Sherlock looked at him in surprise at first, but the longer he thought about it, the more he could see Greg doing the job. He'd worry about him, of course he would, but if he was happy… well, Sherlock was suddenly sure he'd be good at it. He rolled onto his front, running a hand across Greg's chest "Do it then."

"What?"

"Do it. Go to the local station. See what you have to do."

"I did." Greg admitted

"And?"

"It could work, but…"

"But nothing."

"The hours are long, irregular, I'd have to pull stretches of nights… I wouldn't be around as much."

"You wouldn't be around as much if you were pulling two jobs either."

Greg gazed at him for a moment "You're always right aren't you?" He asked, eventually, a small, fond smile playing around his mouth.

"Not always, but I am now."

"I want that in writing! I'll get an application tomorrow after school."

"I'd better start applying too…" Sherlock replied, uncertainly.

"Oh no. No way."

"Are you saying you don't want me to work?

"No. Well yes, but no. It's not that I don't want you working, it's just… you have school to finish, and those two are going to drain a lot of your energy." He insinuated a hand between them to rest flat on Sherlock's belly. "and then there's all this stress with your parents… I just don't want you over-doing it working on top of all that."

"I don't know what I'd do anyway."

"Something with your science, maybe?"

"Maybe." Sherlock replied, uncertainly.

"Well, you don't have to worry about now, that's for sure. You could still get a bit more shut eye."

"Mmm."

"I'll have to be off in a couple of hours." Greg sighed. "C'mon, cuddle down and sleep."

"You don't have to go…"

"I do, Sherls. I've got no uniform or books or anything."

"Oh yeah." Sherlock replied, looking thoroughly miserable.

"Tell you what, I'll go home and get sorted in a couple of hours, then I'll meet you at the memorial again, and we can walk in together."

Sherlock smiled. "Deal." He replied, curling himself back up against his lover's chest. "Mmm, night." He added, sleepily

Greg smiled softly, running his fingers through Sherlock's curls again "Night Sherls."


	8. Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ** "Sherls… are you in the club?" Greg asked, in a low and gentle voice, a little like the one in which he had spoken to him that night when they were…  
> Shaking the thought from his head, Sherlock looked stricken for a moment, then replied, "Don't worry, I shan't be for much longer."  
> "You're… you're going to get rid of it?" Sherlock knew immediately that it had been the wrong thing to say. Greg looked as though he'd been kicked in the stomach. Twice. "Were you even going to talk to me?" The older boy demanded, wide eyed and serious faced.  
> Sherlock shrugged "What is there to talk about? It's practically taken care of." **
> 
> WARNINGS: MPREG. M/M. TEEN PREGNANCY.
> 
> Beta (and cover art when I've figured out how to put it in) by the amazing Capoeri, the John to my Sherlock, who this fic would never have made it so far without ;) Thanks for all the help and encouragement pet! :)

Greg kissed Sherlock goodbye at half past five. He crept in at his front door ten minutes later and was interrogated by his mum in the hallway for ten more, and by his pyjama-clad sister on the landing for a further fifteen. He'd have to run to meet Sherlock at this rate, he sighed, dragging off yesterday's clothes and stepping into the shower. Actually, he thought, grabbing his shower gel and double checking it was actually his - there was no way he wanted to go around smelling of roses, that had been embarrassing enough the first time! - before pouring a generous amount into his palm, actually that wasn't a bad idea. If he ran, he could stop in at the local police station and grab a form on the way…

With that thought in mind, he showered in double-quick time, threw on his uniform, sidestepped Molly on the landing and dashed down to the kitchen. Snatching an apple out of the bowl on the table, he kissed his mother on the cheek and hurried back into the hallway and out of the front door.

He glanced at his watch as he set off down the road, bag bouncing against his hip. Ten to seven. Plenty of time.

Sherlock looked critically at himself in the mirror. His eyes were still red from all the sobbing he'd done yesterday. Typical. There were dark shadows under his eyes from the early morning chat session. Even more typical. He sighed and began stripping off his pyjamas, turning away from the mirror. Suddenly he turned back again, discarding his top carelessly on the bed and staring at the mirror. Slowly he turned sideways. Was it his imagination or was there a bump between his hips that hadn't been there the last time he looked? There was! Just a little one, maybe, but a bump nonetheless. Proof. Actual, real, tangible proof that he was pregnant. Smiling slightly, he reached for his phone and snapped a picture in the mirror to send to Greg. The first of many, he suspected, as he tapped out a quick message to go with it and hit send.

Feeling somewhat more cheerful, he wandered into the ensuite to shower, humming quietly to himself.

* * *

 

Dressed in his school uniform, Sherlock walked slowly downstairs. He wished he could get out of going to breakfast. Usually he wouldn't think twice about skipping it, but Greg had already gently reminded him over the weekend that he needed to eat and take care of himself for the twins now. Pausing outside the dining room door, he took a deep breath, sending up a silent plea that the cold flannel against his eyes and the dab of stolen foundation had disguised the hints of yesterday as well as he thought they had. Then he straightened his tie, thought of meeting Greg in less than an hour and a half to put a smile on his face, and entered the dining room.

"Good morning, Mummy." He said, politely, sliding into his seat at the long table.

"Sherlock." His mother gave him a tight-lipped smile and a small nod before returning to her latest fad diet shake-thing. Business as usual then. Thanking whichever deity wanted to claim credit that she wasn't in one of her talkative moods, Sherlock helped himself to a piece of toast and began liberally applying butter and strawberry jam. A few moments passed in a silence broken only by Sherlock crunching his toast, then Mummy cleared her throat "Sherlock, dear, you will be in tonight, won't you? Your father's coming home."

Sherlock nodded, swallowing and forcing himself to smile as her replied "Of course Mummy." He hesitated. "Greg will be here too." He added.

"Greg?" His mother asked, a frown creasing her forehead. "Who's Greg?"

"Someone from school." Sherlock skirted around the dangerous definition of 'friend' "It's been arranged for ages." He fibbed, quickly, when his mother looked like she would protest.

"Oh, very well. I do wish you'd tell me about these things in advance, Sherlock." She sounded peeved, but that wasn't to be helped. There was no way he was facing his father without Greg.

"I'm sorry, Mummy, I thought I had." He lied as he helped himself to another slice of toast. She looked at him suspiciously.

"Did Mycroft let you skip dinner last night again?"

"No, Mummy." He said, soothingly, adding blackcurrant jam this time. "I'm just hungry this morning. I went for a walk last night, it must be the fresh air."

"Hm. Yes, I suppose so. Well," She rose from the table, "I must go and inform the staff of your father's return." She gave him another searching look "Finish up quickly, you don't want to be late."

"Yes Mummy." Sherlock replied, breathing a sigh of relief as the door close behind her. He munched another mouthful of toast, eyeing the clock on the mantelpiece. Greg would probably be leaving now, he thought, shoving the the last corner of toast into his mouth, wiping his hands on a napkin and standing up.

* * *

 

Greg raced down the last street between him and his goal and spun round the corner into the square, catching a lamppost to steady himself. Sherlock was already sitting on the memorial and stood up when he saw Greg approaching. He seemed slightly wrong-footed when Greg didn't stop a reasonable distance away as he normally did in public, but the younger boy didn't seem all that put out when he realised Greg's intention, kissing him back quite willingly.

"And hello to you too!" Sherlock said, when they finally broke apart, a sparkle of humour in his eyes. "What was that for?"

"The picture. I couldn't reply, I was at the police station, but it's my background now."

"You went to the station?" Sherlock said, as their hug deteriorated into Greg's arm around Sherlock's shoulder and Sherlock's around Greg's waist as they began meandering in the direction of school.

"Mm. Had another chat with a DS, got some forms and info and stuff. 's why I'm late."

Sherlock raised a questioning eyebrow, a small smile quirking the corner of his lips.

"I'll do the application tonight… you'll read through it for me, right? Make sure I've dotted my i's and all that?"

"And spelt your name right, of course." Sherlock replied, grinning suddenly.

"Oh yeah, of course." Greg replied with a chuckle and a fond squeeze.

* * *

 

The day seemed to rush by after that, one minute Sherlock was kissing Greg goodbye outside his first class (Chemistry), and the next he was sitting down to lunch. Sitting down to lunch was odd in itself, seeing as he rarely ate lunch, and certainly never actually in the noisy canteen with the rabble that he was forced to attend with, but Greg had insisted. He had even abandoned his mates so they could sit alone together, and Sherlock had not the heart to refuse him. People had stared. Comments had been made about what might have gotten popular, football star Greg's attention on sarcastic, standoffish know-it-all Sherlock. The word 'Omega' was bandied about in less than discreet whispers by more than a few people around them. Sherlock hunched over his lunch, not looking up. Greg resisted the urge to punch somebody. Possibly several somebodies.

"Ignore them." He'd murmured to Sherlock, "They'll get used to it, and there'll be a new hot topic by the end of the week."

"I could give them one, if you'd like." Sherlock had murmured in response, glancing up only for Greg and half-smiling. "I can name at least half-a-dozen worthwhile topics within six feet of us."

"Care to share?"

They'd spent the remainder of the lunch break happily abusing their peers, not to mention one or two of the teachers. Sherlock set off for his next class with a considerably brighter outlook, which sadly lasted all of about forty-five seconds into the class, which was the exact time it took him to deduce the topic of that day's lesson. Religious Education was, he thought, vaguely useful, if you wanted to deduce the motives of others. It was not, however, what he termed personally useful. He wished the stupid subject wasn't compulsory, especially given today's topic. Abortion was not what he wanted to discuss right now. He zoned out completely, blind copying whatever was put on the board and allowing whatever was said to seep into his head unregistered, to be reviewed later. He was halfway down his mental stack of notes on a book he'd been reading last week when he was finally brought, rather rudely, back to the present.

"What about you, Sherlock?" The teacher had said. Sherlock mentally rewound the conversation. His classmates had expressed rather derogatory views on abortion. His teacher had sought an omega's opinion. Sherlock was the only one in the class. He cleared his throat, and then it just sort of fell out.

"Sometimes it's necessary, Sir."

"It's killing off innocent little babies!" One girl exclaimed. Sherlock couldn't remember her name. She obviously wasn't important.

The teacher had opened his mouth to reply, but Sherlock beat him to it.

"What would you do if you found out you were pregnant, now, today?"

"I wouldn't! I'm no slutty little omega."

"Shannon!" Exclaimed the teacher.

Sherlock appreciate the feeble effort, but ignored the jibe and insisted "But if you did? What would you do? Would you keep it?" The girl looked equal parts confused and annoyed "If it was an accident?" Sherlock added before she could answer "What about if you loved him?" he carried on, bombarding the girl with questions. "If he would stand by you? If he wouldn't? What if you were going to uni? What if you had a job? What if you didn't? How about if your parents would be okay with it? Would they be okay with it? What if they weren't okay with it? What if you had to make a decision, now, today, this minute?"

"I don't know alright?!" 'Shannon' exploded, across the end of his sentence.

Sherlock let the ensuing silence stretch for a few seconds before saying, in a much quieter voice, "If you were pregnant, right now, those are the questions you'd be asking yourself."

The bell for the end of the double period rang into the silence. Sherlock wished he could say he was relieved. At least Shannon had taken his mind off his problems. As it was, it hit him like a truck that his problems would be beginning in a little over an hour. He hauled his bag from under the desk as people around him began to move, getting ready to leave.


	9. Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ** "Sherls… are you in the club?" Greg asked, in a low and gentle voice, a little like the one in which he had spoken to him that night when they were…  
> Shaking the thought from his head, Sherlock looked stricken for a moment, then replied, "Don't worry, I shan't be for much longer."  
> "You're… you're going to get rid of it?" Sherlock knew immediately that it had been the wrong thing to say. Greg looked as though he'd been kicked in the stomach. Twice. "Were you even going to talk to me?" The older boy demanded, wide eyed and serious faced.  
> Sherlock shrugged "What is there to talk about? It's practically taken care of." **
> 
> WARNINGS: MPREG. M/M. TEEN PREGNANCY.
> 
> Beta (and cover art when I've figured out how to put it in) by the amazing Capoeri, the John to my Sherlock, who this fic would never have made it so far without ;) Thanks for all the help and encouragement pet! :)

There was a clock on the mantle of the drawing room at Holmes Manor. Sherlock had always hated that clock, right since he was a small child. There was something about the sinister tick-tick-tick that had made him shiver. It was worse when it chimed. He had vivid memories of climbing into Mycroft's lap whenever it had happened during his childhood. He wished he could climb into Mycroft's lap now, as it chimed the hour, four drawn out, reedy chimes. He wanted to huddle against Greg, but that would rather be showing his hand, so he forced himself to sit still on the centre cushion of the sofa, contenting himself with catching Greg's eye in the mirror over the fireplace. He looked as awkward as Sherlock felt, but he smiled his reassuring smile, as always. There came a noise of crunching gravel on the driveway outside and from the front hall they heard hurrying feet and then a creak as the front door was thrown wide. Sherlock's suit felt too hot and too tight, and he suddenly felt extremely conscious of that bump he had discovered that morning, even though he knew it couldn't be seen. He tugged at his shirt collar, registering his mother's infinitesimal frown at his fidgeting, at the same time as he watched Greg do the exact same thing to the collar of his school shirt.

"Good afternoon Mr. Holmes, Sir, and Master Mycroft too. I hope you both had a pleasant journey, Sirs?" The small and mousey housemaid's voice that echoed into the room sounded half afraid of her employer. Sherlock couldn't say he blamed her. They heard Mycroft's voice answering her, apparently his father had more important things than replying to domestic staff on his mind.

Mummy rose from her chair as the drawing room door was thrown open, revealing the imposing figure of Siger Holmes, dressed in his expensive, black three piece suit and tie (in an immaculate full Windsor knot, of course). His face was, sadly, like thunder, as he strode into the room and demanded of his wife "Alright, who is he?!"

"Who is who, Siger, dear?"

"Don't you play games with me woman!" Siger roared, obviously oblivious of their company "I want to know who did it!"

"I really have no idea what you're talking about, dear" Violet Holmes gave a small false girlish laugh "perhaps you are tired from your journey. You will soon feel better for a sit down and a cup of tea-"

"I don't want a cup of tea, you stupid woman, I want to know who is the father! Tell me this instant!"

"The father? Siger, what on earth-?"

"You're pregnant, I can smell it!"

Violet Holmes looked affronted "I most certainly am not!" She retorted, most indignantly

"Don't you lie to me! I can smell it, I tell you!"

"Mummy isn't lying, Daddy." Sherlock heard his own voice, felt his lips move, but did not remember consciously ordering the words to form. It seemed, to him, as though a stranger had said them, and he would have believed it to be true, had his parents not paused mid-argument to turn their heads and stare at him.

"And what do you mean by that then, hm?!" Siger rounded on his youngest son, breaking the moment and looming over him.

Sherlock took a very deep breath, "Mummy isn't lying, Daddy, because I'm the one that's pregnant." For one very long moment nobody spoke. Seeing their stunned faces and open mouths, Sherlock was visited by a momentary and very bizarre desire to laugh. Finally, after seventeen years of trying, he'd got their attention.

When his father spoke next - and Sherlock had always known it would be Daddy that led the enquiry; Mummy would keep her opinion to herself, like a good omega wife should, apparently - his voice was like treacle, sticky and sickly sweet. "Now how on Earth did that happen?"

"Well, I'd have thought that was obvious. The angel Gabriel came to me in a dream." Sherlock's tone dripped sarcasm. It was the one gift his father had bestowed upon him that he actually liked. Sarcasm was an excellent protection mechanism.

The sweet tone disappeared immediately "Don't you talk to me like that in front of company, you insolent little-" He paused looking at Greg, his brow furrowed "And just who the hell are you?" He demanded

Greg opened his mouth to reply, but Sherlock beat him to it. Perhaps it was just as well, Greg wasn't entirely sure his reply would have been a polite introduction.

"Greg is a friend from school, Daddy."

"Oh. Oh-ho! 'Friend' is it? We all know what 'friend' means don't we?!" He glared at Greg "You're the no-good alpha that's gotten him into this mess, aren't you?! And are you going to get him out of it? Ohhhhh no! That will be me!"

"No, it won't." Sherlock said, in his firmest voice, which still shook slightly.

"Oh-ho? Going to get yourself out of it are we? And how are you going to manage that?"

"Well first, I'm going to set you straight that I am  _not_  having an abortion!"

"Like hell you're not!" His father roared.

"I have explored that particular road fully and decided that it is not for me." Sherlock explained, trying to keep his voice calm, despite the mass of emotions that were coiling and uncoiling in his chest.

"That's not for you to decide!"

"It's not the dark ages anymore, Mr. Holmes." Greg broke in, his tone polite and calm, "Omegas have rights nowadays."

"Ugh! You had to pick a namby-pamby wishy-washy omega bloody rights activist didn't you! You couldn't at least pick from decent alpha stock!"

"Greg is the most decent Alpha I know!" Sherlock yelled suddenly, anger surging through his veins, sudden and all consuming "Far and away more decent than you!"

"How dare you, you filthy little whore! You'll damn well do as I say! You go upstairs this instant, you are never seeing this - this -  _pervert_  ever again! And I will arrange for this filthy mongrel child to be dealt with!"

The next surge of emotion Sherlock felt was totally unexpected. Hot burning hatred retreated from the pit of his stomach, leaving only despair and hurt in its wake. To his horror he felt his eyes burning with tears. His voice was completely steady though, when he bellowed: "You will never harm any child of mine!" Then it was more than he could do to control himself and, with a little gasping sob, he leapt to his feet and ran from the room, dodging around Greg and nearly colliding with Mycroft, who had been standing in the doorway, waiting for the moment Sherlock needed him to step in.

"Come, Gregory, I believe we're leaving." Mycroft said, quietly, turning away from his parents to follow more sedately in his brother's path. Greg crossed the room obediently but, when he reached the door, he found he could not bear to go any further without having his say. So he turned on his heel in the doorway and glared straight at Siger.

"I don't care who you work for, or what you say about me, but if you ever,  _ever_  make my Sherlock cry again, I swear to God it will be the last thing you do." He growled.

"How sweet."

Greg refused to let the putdown faze him for even a second "Before I go, I'll tell you the things you'll never know otherwise, so that you can fully appreciate what you've lost. Yes, your son is pregnant with my babies - yes Mrs. Holmes, that's right, babies, Sherlock's having twins - and yes, I'll treat him with the respect he - and every other omega  _Mister_  Holmes - truly deserves. I'll give them all the best life I can. We plan to live together, and what's more, I plan to ask him to marry me! So you can like it, or you can stand there and stamp your foot and have another tantrum about it, I really don't care. Goodbye and good riddance!" and with that, he turned on his heel for the second time, stalked out of the manor and climbed into the back of the sleek black car parked in the centre of the gravel driveway. The second the door closed behind him, the car pulled away, accelerating smoothly.

Greg turned, not bothering with his seatbelt, and threw his arms around Sherlock, who sobbed uncontrollably into his shoulder.

"I d-d-don't even n-n-know why I'm c-c-crying!" Sherlock managed, between sobs.

"You're pregnant Sherls, blame the hormones while you can." Greg advised. On the other side of the car, Mycroft tried very hard, (and very unsuccessfully), not to smile. It was always going to end this way. Sherlock might be inclined to mourn a little, but Greg certainly wouldn't let him do anything but get on with it. There was every chance that these two might just be alright, he thought to himself.


	10. Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ** "Sherls… are you in the club?" Greg asked, in a low and gentle voice, a little like the one in which he had spoken to him that night when they were…  
> Shaking the thought from his head, Sherlock looked stricken for a moment, then replied, "Don't worry, I shan't be for much longer."  
> "You're… you're going to get rid of it?" Sherlock knew immediately that it had been the wrong thing to say. Greg looked as though he'd been kicked in the stomach. Twice. "Were you even going to talk to me?" The older boy demanded, wide eyed and serious faced.  
> Sherlock shrugged "What is there to talk about? It's practically taken care of." **
> 
> WARNINGS: MPREG. M/M. TEEN PREGNANCY.
> 
> Beta (and cover art when I've figured out how to put it in) by the amazing Capoeri, the John to my Sherlock, who this fic would never have made it so far without ;) Thanks for all the help and encouragement pet! :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some time has passed between this chapter and the last in the actual fic too, maybe two months or so ;) Enjoy!

The flat was pretty dire if Greg was honest. It was painted, floored and furnished in more shades of grey than he had previously realised existed. The window panes were usually slick with water and there was mould in the bathroom, but it was secure and it was home. They'd managed to brighten it up a bit with some cushions and rugs and photos tacked to the fridge - their favourites were, ironically, predominantly grey: every one of Sherlock's scan pictures were tacked up in age order. Plus, the rent didn't give them both heart attacks like most two-bed places in Central London had nearly done. They'd had a bit of help from Mycroft, although not as much as Greg had feared such a sudden departure from home would require. They'd both felt it necessary to get Sherlock well away from Holmes Manor just as soon as possible and Greg wasn't labouring under any misapprehensions about exactly how his name had gotten to the top of the council's housing list at just the right moment. It had Mycroft written all over it. Not that he wasn't grateful. He had a hunch it was down to him that a list of Police Approved CPK courses and various College and Uni brochures had popped through the front door less than a week after they'd moved in. Now he was studying four evenings a week at a nearby college and loving every minute of it. He didn't much mind the day work in the local Spar shop either, especially since the shop was ideally situated about ten minutes walk from their front door and less than fifteen from his college. Sherlock had enrolled on a distance learning course, appreciating that going off to Uni a year early as he'd planned was pretty much out of the question:

"Not least because I'm starting to look like a close relation of a whale!" he said with a sigh, as they were getting ready one morning. Hitching up his top - Greg's actually, his own no longer buttoned up - he stared at himself in the mirror. It was true that his bump was more obvious these days, you certainly no longer needed to be medically qualified to tell that he was pregnant, but Greg rather liked it if he was honest.

"You do not look like a whale." He said, stepping up behind Sherlock, wrapping his arms around him and placing a kiss on an exposed patch of neck.

"Hm, perhaps an elephant  _is_  more accurate."

"Sherls." Greg chided gently "You look fine." Sherlock's reflection raised an eyebrow "You do! Dead sexy."

At this, Sherlock snorted, dropping the shirt back over his belly - not that it made an awful lot of difference. "Your definition of sexy is warped."

"Call it what you like," Greg insisted, slipping a hand under Sherlock's shirt to rest, splayed, across his belly. "but I know sexy when I see it." He gave him another kiss, on the lips this time, before stepping back and reaching for his jacket. "I'd better get off. You're the sexiest thing I've ever seen and I'll show you as much when I get in, but work waits for no man… not even one tucked up with his sexy boyfriend." He winked and Sherlock blushed, grinning and swatting him on the arm.

"Go on then, be off with you! Sexy indeed!" He chuckled, as though it were preposterous.

* * *

 

When Greg returned home, it was nearly eight pm, as was usual for the days he had college after work.

"Sherls?" He called, bolting the door behind him and shrugging out of his coat in the tiny, dingy hallway. Receiving no answer Greg headed into the empty living/kitchen area. "Sherlock? Where are you?" the lack of answer this time had Greg fighting back a whole host of 'what if?' scenarios. He'd always been fairly rational, but the further along Sherlock got, the more Greg seemed inclined to freak out. Sherlock teased him about it usually, but he never complained about the amount of extra cuddling it got him. A quick glance told him that their darkened bedroom was empty, although he could make out Sherlock's uni books spread out across the bed as though abandoned. Fighting an irrational wave of panic, Greg almost threw himself across the few remaining feet to the second bedroom, the soon-to-be nursery they were in the process of doing up. In the doorway he froze, hands resting on the door frame, feeling suddenly warm and fuzzy, as well as slightly silly for (yet again!) panicking about Sherlock for no good reason. The small freestanding lamp in the corner was a the only source of light, there were baby furniture catalogues and paint charts scattered all over the floor and his love was asleep in the most recent addition to the nursery furniture, a solid oak rocking chair. This scene in itself would have been 'one for the album', as his mother would say, but it was something else entirely that had Greg reaching for his phone to snap a few candid shots. Sherlock must have been playing the twins classical music again, for in his drooping left hand he loosely gripped his bow, one end resting on the floor. His right arm was wrapped across his violin, which was propped on his bump in a pose that made Greg want to coo, although he'd never admit to it.

After he'd shoved his phone back into his pocket, Greg just leant against the doorframe, hands in his pockets, ankles crossed, and watched his Sherlock sleep. It was one of his favourite pass-times when he needed to wind down at the end of the day.

He'd been standing there a while when Sherlock opened one eye and said very quietly.

"Are you done taking photos? Can I wake up now?"

Greg chuckled "Yeah I'm all done." He stood up properly as Sherlock sat up, carefully lowering his violin to the floor and stretching "You want a cuppa?"

"Mmm, plea-" Sherlock broke off with a little gasp "Greg! Come here, quickly!" He said, sharp and urgent.

Greg nearly jumped out of his skin, panic flashing across his face as he dashed across the room and knelt down beside him "What?! What is it?! What's wrong?!"

Sherlock grabbed his hand "You have to feel this." He said, simply, placing Greg's hand on his belly.

The panic disappeared from Greg's face to be replaced by a look of absolute wonder. "They're… oh wow."

It was hardly the first time the twins had decided to play a little football in his belly, but they seemed most active during the day, when Greg was usually out. Watching his delight at having his hand kicked for the first time was a moment Sherlock had been waiting for.

"They must be anxious to meet their Daddy. They're never this active at this time of night." He remarked, softly

Greg's smile could have lit an entire continent. He leant forward to place his cheek next to his hand "Hi guys." He murmured. "I love you so much. I can't wait to really meet you…" He placed a kiss on Sherlock's belly.

"Better make it two." Sherlock said as Greg pulled gently away a few moments later.

Greg raised an eyebrow "Is this something I should know about?" He joked with a grin,

"They get jealous, honestly."

"Oh well, we wouldn't want that." Greg smiled, leaning down to place another kiss on the opposite side of Sherlock's belly. "There." He smiled "All better."

Sometime later, nestled into Greg's chest as they sat on the sofa drinking tea, Sherlock looked up

"Gre-eg?"

"Mm?"

"Sometimes, I get jealous too..." He hinted, peering at him from under his eyelashes.

A grin that could only be described as 'sexy' appeared on Greg's face and he leant his face towards Sherlock's "Is that so?" He said, his lips a few inched from Sherlock's.

"Mm-hm."

"Well, we can't have that either, can we?" Greg replied, breathily, before leaning in and kissing him.


	11. Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ** "Sherls… are you in the club?" Greg asked, in a low and gentle voice, a little like the one in which he had spoken to him that night when they were…  
> Shaking the thought from his head, Sherlock looked stricken for a moment, then replied, "Don't worry, I shan't be for much longer."  
> "You're… you're going to get rid of it?" Sherlock knew immediately that it had been the wrong thing to say. Greg looked as though he'd been kicked in the stomach. Twice. "Were you even going to talk to me?" The older boy demanded, wide eyed and serious faced.  
> Sherlock shrugged "What is there to talk about? It's practically taken care of." **
> 
> WARNINGS: MPREG. M/M. TEEN PREGNANCY.
> 
> Beta (and cover art when I've figured out how to put it in) by the amazing Capoeri, the John to my Sherlock, who this fic would never have made it so far without ;) Thanks for all the help and encouragement pet! :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its time for some anger and angst, I'm afraid. I know, I know, I'm mean. But I think Greg's done great getting this far, you try living with a bored, hormonal Sherlock Holmes!

The best part of two months had passed in as close to domestic bliss as Greg could have expected when his other half was very pregnant; had standby settings of horny, bored or hormonal (and occasionally all three) and was inclined to wake him up in the middle of the night to request - or rather demand - that he went out to get some obscure foodstuff, or rubbed his feet, or back, or just about any other part of him that ached.

At school, Sherlock had always had a reputation for being rude - though Greg had soon discovered he never meant to be - amazingly clever at chemistry and the most incredible risk taker. Greg knew he had used to smoke - so had he, come to that - but they'd both given up the moment Sherlock had let on (intentionally or not) that he was pregnant. The babies' safety was paramount, they had agreed. At least, he'd agreed. Sherlock, apparently, hadn't.

Greg was halfway through his Spar shift when his boss called him into the office to take a phone call. Assuming it would be Sherlock to ask him to bring home something to stave off yet another crazy craving - the most memorable was still ham and vanilla ice cream in a brown crusty roll - Greg had gone with an apologetic grin.

"Peanut butter and pickles?" He enquired, as he picked up the receiver "or is it Jammie dodgers and cheese this time?"

"Greg?"

"Mycroft?" Greg said, his face registering surprise. "Sorry, I thought you were Sherlock." There was a silence "Cravings." Greg explained, grinning "What can I do for you?"

"Ah. Sherlock's in hospital."

Greg stood up, suddenly, almost pulling the phone wire out of its socket "The babies?" He asked, the familiar, but suddenly all the more justified feeling of panic creeping up his throat.

"Appear quite happy where they are for the moment." Mycroft replied.

"Then what?"

"They're keeping him in for observation. He's not hurt. Well, a little bruise perhaps, but nothing serious."

"Myc, if you don't tell me what's happened, I swear to God…" Greg broke in, threateningly.

"Sherlock had a little fall. Off a wall to be precise."

"A wall? Which wall? What was he doing on a wall in the first place? He's seven months pregnant!"

"My brother got bored. He does from time to time. He deduced who was responsible for something on the news and decided to go and apprehend them."

Greg stayed very, very quiet, his eyes closed in an effort to control himself.

"There's a car on its way for you."

"Right. Thanks." Greg replied, then dropped the phone back onto the hook and left the office, snatching his jacket as he went.

* * *

 

The hospital was much like every other hospital Greg had ever been in, clean and clinical. He didn't really notice as he dashed through the corridors towards the room the driver of Mycroft's car had directed him to.

"Sherlock?" He gasped, as he stepped through the door "What the hell is going on?"

"They're making me stay when there's nothing wrong with me."

Mycroft, who had been sitting in a chair at Sherlock's bedside when Greg arrived, rose to his feet

"I'll pop and get a coffee while you two chat. Can I get one for anyone else?"

Sherlock shook his head, waving the cup of tea in his right hand.

"No thanks." Greg replied, stepping to one side of the doorway so Mycroft could pass. When he'd gone, Greg crossed to the bed, slipping off his jacket and throwing it on the abandoned chair as he sat down on one edge of the bed. "Sherlock, what the hell were you thinking, going after someone in your condition?" He asked, quietly

"I was fine. I miscalculated the width of the wall, that's all."

"You could've been hurt." Greg's voice was soft as he reached out to stroke Sherlock's fringe out of his eyes. "The twins-"

"Mycroft's already given me this lecture." Sherlock said, boredly.

"Well I'm giving it to you too." Greg replied, frowning. "What gives you the right to risk our children like that?!" He exclaimed, annoyed by Sherlock's I-don't-care attitude.

"There was no risk!"

"You fell off a wall!"

"It wasn't a big wall!"

"Oh, I'm  _so_ relieved." Greg deadpanned, with a bit of a snarl.

"It could have been worse. I'm not hurt, the twins are fine, they've said. They're only being over cautious, that's all."

"Damn right it could have been worse! Why didn't you phone the police if you figured something out? Or even Mycroft?"

"Mycroft is of the opinion that the police should be allowed to do their job, and the police won't listen to a teenager on a murder enquiry. I mean, they should have seen the cases were connected, it was so  _obvious_  that it was serial killer, any fool could have seen it…" That was probably the moment Sherlock realised that he'd put his foot in it. Greg's face was suddenly very white and he sat very quiet and still, not looking at Sherlock, every muscle in his body tense. "Greg?" Sherlock ventured, hesitantly after a while.

When Greg answered, it was in a voice so deadly calm and quiet that Sherlock shivered. He'd never heard him use that tone before, and he knew he was in trouble. Big trouble. "You went after a serial killer while pregnant with my children?"

"They were in no-"

"Did you or didn't you?" Greg cut him off in the same eerily even voice.

"Yes, fine, I did!"

"Yeah. That's what I thought you just said." He sat very still for another long moment, staring at the bed and then he raised his gaze to Sherlock's face "How dare you?" he began quietly enough, but his voice steadily rose "How  _dare_ you?! Why would you put them at such risk? After all we've gone through to keep them! Don't you love them? And what about me? I love you. I love them. Does that not make you feel anything at all? Don't you care? Do we mean that  _little_ to you?"

"Greg, no! That's not fair-"

"Don't. Don't you even talk to me right now. I don't  _believe_  you did that!" Greg stood up suddenly, shrugging swiftly into his coat and walking towards the door.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock asked, in a voice that threatened tears.

"For a walk. I need to think, to just… I need to be away from you right now." And without looking back, he left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you hate me now? I hate me now, but I had to...


	12. Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ** "Sherls… are you in the club?" Greg asked, in a low and gentle voice, a little like the one in which he had spoken to him that night when they were…  
> Shaking the thought from his head, Sherlock looked stricken for a moment, then replied, "Don't worry, I shan't be for much longer."  
> "You're… you're going to get rid of it?" Sherlock knew immediately that it had been the wrong thing to say. Greg looked as though he'd been kicked in the stomach. Twice. "Were you even going to talk to me?" The older boy demanded, wide eyed and serious faced.  
> Sherlock shrugged "What is there to talk about? It's practically taken care of." **  
> WARNINGS: MPREG. M/M. TEEN PREGNANCY.  
> Beta (and cover art when I've figured out how to put it in) by the amazing Capoeri, the John to my Sherlock, who this fic would never have made it so far without ;) Thanks for all the help and encouragement pet! :)

How could he have done that? Greg thought, furiously for the millionth time, as he strode blindly through the city streets some hours later, head down, his hands shoved in his jacket pockets in tightly balled fists. How could he be so _stupid?_ How could he risk everything for a few minutes poxy adrenalin high? Greg kicked fiercely at the litter in the gutter as he crossed the road, giving it a savage glare, as if the crushed Dr. Pepper bottle had done him a personal wrong. How could he risk  _himself_  like that, let alone the twins? Didn't he know what it would do to Greg if he ever lost him? And that was when it struck him. No. Perhaps Sherlock  _didn't_  know. When he wasn't being all 'it's obvious, you're all stupid', he tended to be a very insecure prat. Could he actually not know? It didn't cancel everything out, of course it didn't, but the mere possibility that Sherlock didn't know Greg would fall to bits without him now… at two in the morning, it was more than enough to turn his blood to ice. Three in the morning?! He squinted at his watch, tilting it towards a streetlight, convinced he'd misread it, but no, two-oh-four am was indeed what it said. He looked around, seeing the darkness for the first time. Bloody hell, where had the time gone? He'd missed his evening class for a start, not that he'd have been able to concentrate anyway. He slowly turned and directed his footsteps homeward. He sincerely doubted the hospital would let him see Sherlock at this time, and he had work in the morning. Whatever was going on they certainly couldn't afford him missing even another half day. Sherlock would just have to make do with a letter if he should be allowed home before Greg got off work at three-thirty. It was nearly three when he got back to the flat, his anger had blind-walked him so far out of his own neighbourhood. He stayed up another half an hour, drafting and redrafting the letter while he still had enough sense to do it properly. Then, as the last of his energy drained away, he fell onto the bed fully clothed, thinking that was at least good that he was pretty used to bugger all sleep from all the occasions when Sherlock was in one of his 'I can't get comfortable' wriggly moods. He slept like the dead for the three and a quarter hours until his alarm went off.

* * *

 

For as long as Mycroft Holmes could remember he'd been the one who'd picked his little brother up when he fell down; dried his tears; kissed his bumps and bruises and smoothed on the antiseptic cream as needed. As he'd grown up, the soothing had become a little less physical, a little more about pride stroking and reassurance. Looking at Sherlock's lost, devastated face when he arrived back from the canteen, Mycroft more than suspected that none of that was going to be anywhere near enough this time. Sherlock's aching eyes moved up to meet his big brother's gaze and Mycroft's automatic move, though they hadn't been the most cuddly of siblings for a long time, was to cross to the bed and envelope his brother in his arms. Even more surprisingly, Sherlock nuzzled into his chest willingly.

"I never meant-" He said, before tailing away into murmurs that Mycroft didn't need to hear to understand. He could well imagine what Sherlock had 'never meant' to do. He'd never _meant_  to be reckless; he'd never  _meant_  to put his babies in danger; he'd never  _meant_  to fall from the wall and end up in hospital; he'd never  _meant_  for Greg to find out he'd gone after a serial killer; he'd never  _meant_  for him to be so hurt and angry.

"I know, brother-mine." He soothed, trailing his fingers through Sherlock's curls as the younger man sought comfort in his warmth. "But you did, and you are sorry - you  _are_  sorry, I take it?"

"Of course I am…" Sherlock murmured.

"Well, quite. You are sorry and no real harm has been done. I remain quite convinced that you will be forgiven, in time."

Sherlock pulled away from his brother enough to look at him "But Greg-"

"Needs time, little brother. Time in which you can only show that you are sorry and be patient."

Sherlock licked his lips and nodded, reluctantly.

"And for now, the best way to show you are sorry is by taking care of yourself and your offspring. And to do that, you must sleep."

"Stay awhile with me?" Sherlock asked, once his brother had gently extricated himself from the hug and laid Sherlock back into the pillows.

Mycroft regarded him for a second before giving him a small smile "Of course." He settled himself back in the guest chair again and, after a moment, drew from his jacket pocket a very old and battered book.

Sherlock fell asleep to the familiar words of Treasure Island, his favourite childhood bedtime story. Greg didn't come back to the hospital that night, returning to the flat alone. Sleeping alone for the first time in months, both men had bad dreams that night.

* * *

 

At eleven o'clock the next day the hospital finally discharged Sherlock. Mycroft had long ago had to go back to work (at about five that morning to be precise), and Greg had not returned to the hospital yet, either still mad at him; busy with work or both, so Sherlock made his own careful way home, albeit in the back of the car his brother had provided. Greg would be at work by now he knew. Part of him was grateful. Most of him rebelled at being alone in that tiny flat. It was so empty when he was alone. So lifeless. He allowed himself just one moment to think of what it might be like if he were alone there permanently before he clamped down on the feelings hard, pushing them into the the furthest corner of his mind palace, shutting them safely away in the room where he kept bad thoughts. Worrying was bad for the babies after all.

There was a tiny part of him, so small and stupid that he didn't even dare acknowledge it, that hoped as he climbed out of the car, that Greg would be waiting for him in the flat. He wasn't of course, but there was a letter in his handwriting on the kitchen counter.

_Sherlock,_

_Yes, I_ _**am** _ _still pissed at you. Yes, I_ _**am** _ _coming home tonight. Yes, I_ _**am** _ _probably going to yell some more. BUT! When I'm done yelling, I_ _**am** _ _going to cook you dinner. And when we're done with dinner, I_ _**am** _ _going to make love to you._

_Take care of our fucking babies you git, please remember that they_ _**are** _ _part mine too._

_I love you. All of you. Even the reckless bits._

_Greg_

_xxx_

Sherlock re-read it twice, just to be sure he wasn't mistaken and Greg really wasn't leaving him, or something else equally dramatic and heartbreaking. Then, once he was certain, he began to laugh. He laughed until he cried and then, when he was done crying he reread the letter again.

"You see guys? Your daddies love you." He remarked to his bump, patting it gently and chuckling when his hand got kicked as if in response.


	13. Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ** "Sherls… are you in the club?" Greg asked, in a low and gentle voice, a little like the one in which he had spoken to him that night when they were…  
> Shaking the thought from his head, Sherlock looked stricken for a moment, then replied, "Don't worry, I shan't be for much longer."  
> "You're… you're going to get rid of it?" Sherlock knew immediately that it had been the wrong thing to say. Greg looked as though he'd been kicked in the stomach. Twice. "Were you even going to talk to me?" The older boy demanded, wide eyed and serious faced.  
> Sherlock shrugged "What is there to talk about? It's practically taken care of." **  
> WARNINGS: MPREG. M/M. TEEN PREGNANCY.  
> Beta (and cover art when I've figured out how to put it in) by the amazing Capoeri, the John to my Sherlock, who this fic would never have made it so far without ;) Thanks for all the help and encouragement pet! :)

"Don't you dare ever do that to me again!" That was Greg's greeting as he walked into the flat at four that afternoon, growled in as angry a tone as he could muster.

"I'm sorry." Sherlock murmured.

"Promise me." Greg demanded.

"I can't make a promise I know I shan't keep." Sherlock replied, his tone equal parts guilty and hard.

Greg appreciated his honesty. "Okay," He conceded "promise me you won't do anything stupid while you're pregnant."

"Stupid?" Sherlock cracked a tentative little half smile "I never do anything stupid."

"Risky then."

"It's risky crossing the road." Sherlock shrugged

"So help me God, Sherlock, make the damn promise so I can stop being a moody git!" Greg exclaimed, fighting a grin at Sherlock's determined awkwardness

"You promise you won't be mad anymore?"

"I promise I'll be very angry if you ever put them in danger and scare me like that again."

Sherlock looked up at him from under his eyelashes, the picture of repentance "I promise I'll not chase murderers while I'm still pregnant."

Greg smiled. "Good." He paused "You fucking prat." he added amiably, sinking on to the sofa beside him. "How did you fall off a wall? You're the most dexterous person I know!"

Sherlock groaned, letting his head fall against Greg's shoulder "I don't know! One minute I'm chasing this guy and the next I'm on my arse with my legs in the air and some old dear asking if I'm alright!"

Greg couldn't help chuckling at the image

"It hurt!" Sherlock exclaimed indignantly

"Fine, I'll kiss you're bruised bits later," Greg replied, fighting back his grin, "but right now I want my dinner." He dropped a kiss on the top of Sherlock's head and hauled himself off of the sofa to hunt in the freezer.


	14. Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ** "Sherls… are you in the club?" Greg asked, in a low and gentle voice, a little like the one in which he had spoken to him that night when they were…  
> Shaking the thought from his head, Sherlock looked stricken for a moment, then replied, "Don't worry, I shan't be for much longer."  
> "You're… you're going to get rid of it?" Sherlock knew immediately that it had been the wrong thing to say. Greg looked as though he'd been kicked in the stomach. Twice. "Were you even going to talk to me?" The older boy demanded, wide eyed and serious faced.  
> Sherlock shrugged "What is there to talk about? It's practically taken care of." **
> 
> WARNINGS: MPREG. M/M. TEEN PREGNANCY.
> 
> Beta (and cover art when I've figured out how to put it in) by the amazing Capoeri, the John to my Sherlock, who this fic would never have made it so far without ;) Thanks for all the help and encouragement pet! :)

Thank god they'd thought to put down dust sheets! Sherlock thought, surveying the half-painted nursery. Greg had insisted he sit down and paint the bottom half of the walls, while he hung off a step ladder and painted the ceiling and the top half of the walls.

"You've fallen off enough this week!" he had said, firmly, when Sherlock had complained. It hadn't made much difference, Sherlock reflected, it just meant he was stuck down here like some bloody beached whale until Greg came to see why he hadn't come into the front room for his cuppa. He'd tried calling out, but Greg must have his headphones in again. He shuffled himself across to one of the walls they hadn't reached yet and leant against it, taking in the effect of the painting they'd done so far.

They'd chosen a rich deep purple for the walls. Two were just about done by the time they'd decided to take a break. Sherlock sighed, wondering about using the ladder to haul him up, but the way it had wobbled about with Greg on it made him reluctant. He'd painted the ceiling glossy white first, saying Sherlock could start the walls. Sherlock had abandoned the walls within two minutes and held grimly on to the foot of the ladder out of fear of another trip to A&E.

"Sherls?" Greg's head appeared around the door frame "You okay down there?"

"Oh yes, I'm fine. I'm thinking of taking up residence on the floor permanently." Sherlock replied, rolling his eyes "Help me up?"

Greg grinned and crossed to when he sat, taking both his hands and hauling his love to his feet. He winced rubbing his back once Sherlock was up. "You little sprogs better hurry up and join us in the real world." He remarked to Sherlock's bump, (they'd both gotten more and more relaxed about idly chatting to the twins in this way, though it was still something they tended not to do outside the flat) "Much more of that and we'll both be living on the floor!"

* * *

 

One cuppa and two biscuits each later and they started the last two walls, working from opposite ends towards each other. At some point in the middle of the afternoon, Greg fetched his old portable radio and they spent most of the rest of the afternoon singing along to all their old favourites.

The opening notes of the next song set Sherlock gasping and Greg panicking he was in labour or something, because he'd never heard the song before and saw no reason it should make Sherlock gasp. Sherlock waved away his concern,

"Just shut up and listen…" He said, with a chuckle. After a breathe he began to sing along:

_"…The one you warned me all about,_

_The one you said I could do without,_

_We're in an awful mess, and I don't mean maybe - please_

_Papa don't preach, I'm in trouble deep_

_Papa don't preach, I've been losing sleep_

_But I made up my mind, I'm keeping my baby, oh_

_I'm gonna keep my baby, mmm..._

_He says that he's going to marry me_

_We can raise a little family…"_

"Damn it, that's how we should've told your parents!" Greg exclaimed, beginning to laugh. Sherlock leant his head against his love's shoulder and laughed along with him.

* * *

 

"Do you think it's too dark?" Sherlock asked, late that night when they were finally finished painting

"Don't think so…" Greg answered thoughtfully. He leant down and deposited his roller in the paint tray "Hang on," He disappeared out of the door and returned a few minutes later with the two, tall free-standing lamps they were going to use as night-time lighting. He stood one in each of the far corners and plugged them in. Dragging the dust covers off the two cribs and stepping back to survey the effect he remarked "how's that?"

Sherlock didn't answer and when Greg glanced back at him he was smiling through tears. Greg moved over to him and slipped an arm around him "It's perfect…" Sherlock murmured, wiping his face with a hand and leaning into Greg's shoulder.

The older man dropped a kiss on the top of his head. "All we need now is the babies." He agreed, smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote is from Papa Don't Preach by Madonna, if you were wondering.


	15. Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ** "Sherls… are you in the club?" Greg asked, in a low and gentle voice, a little like the one in which he had spoken to him that night when they were…  
> Shaking the thought from his head, Sherlock looked stricken for a moment, then replied, "Don't worry, I shan't be for much longer."  
> "You're… you're going to get rid of it?" Sherlock knew immediately that it had been the wrong thing to say. Greg looked as though he'd been kicked in the stomach. Twice. "Were you even going to talk to me?" The older boy demanded, wide eyed and serious faced.  
> Sherlock shrugged "What is there to talk about? It's practically taken care of." **
> 
> WARNINGS: MPREG. M/M. TEEN PREGNANCY.
> 
> Beta (and cover art when I've figured out how to put it in) by the amazing Capoeri, the John to my Sherlock, who this fic would never have made it so far without ;) Thanks for all the help and encouragement pet! :)

So Sherlock could be a prize prat at times. Greg had known that before they'd even spoken to each other, and he had been well aware of the fact when he'd slept with him at that party. He might have been drunk but he'd have had to be blind to miss how uncomfortable Sherlock was in a social setting, how sarcastic and cruel he came across to other people. So why did Greg love him so? Because he'd also seen him cry the day he'd left home, and seen his face at their first baby scan. So that was why he'd lied about having a revision class and was now standing outside this little shop gazing in the window at the perfect little thing to tell Sherlock how much he really loved him. It was tiny, really. Insignificant. Funny how much store people set by something so small. He'd been saving up for this. This was one thing he was going to buy without any help from anyone. He smiled to himself and moved to the door, which opened with a tinkle of chimes.

It was Sherlock's eighteenth birthday on Sunday. They weren't going out, not with him so close to delivering. No, a quiet night in was on the menu, along with one of their more adventurous homemade dinners - Greg made a mental note to make sure they had bread, cheese and baked beans in, just in case it all went drastically tits up - and it was going to be romantic. One of the few more peaceful nights that they'd get to spend together before the twins began causing the havoc that any children of theirs were destined to. He fingered the box in his coat pocket, pushing it deeper as he approached their building. Nestled in the red velvet lining of that tiny black and gold-trimmed jewel box were two silver rings. Simple, plain bands, one fractionally larger than the other and both engraved on the inside with their initials. Greg was going to propose.

* * *

 

The best thing about lazy Sundays, Sherlock decided as he dozed in Greg's arms, was that neither of them had anywhere to be. On this particular Sunday, he had finished his most recent essay the night before, and didn't have another one looming for a week or two, so there was no temptation (or indeed need) for him to get out his books and waste this precious one-on-one time with Greg studying. Today, they could just… be. With that thought in his head, it wasn't until eleven that he felt the need to crawl out of their warm little nest to put the coffee on. By the time he returned, Greg was sitting up in bed - all shirtless, his tanned skin not marred but beautified by the rather obvious love bite at the base of his throat, Sherlock noted with a grin - phone in hand, grinning at a text he'd just received.

"Something funny?" Sherlock asked, handing him his mug and clambering back into bed

"Hm? Oh, just Molly, she's been texting me every day telling me 'it won't happen today' about you giving birth."

"Oh? So what's funny?"

"Today she says 'oh my god Greggie it's today'."

Sherlock grinned and patted his stomach affectionately. "What do you say guys? Is your Auntie Molly right?"

"If she is, then at least it'll put a stop to her trying to predict it every bloody day!" Greg chuckled, setting aside his phone and reaching out an arm to Sherlock, who settled back against his chest with a relaxed hum. "So, what does the birthday boy want for breakfast then?"

"Mmm." Replied Sherlock, noncommittally

"Bacon butty?"

"Mmm." He replied, shaking his head as much as was possible with his face buried in Greg's chest.

"Full English?"

"Mmm." Sherlock shook his head again.

"Eggs?"

Sherlock thought about it for a moment. "Mmm." He shook his head.

"Crumpets?"

"Mmm." Sherlock shook his head again.

"Pancakes?"

"Mmm!" Sherlock responded more fervently, nodding into Greg's chest this time.

"Well you'll have to let me up to get them."

"Mmm." Sherlock shook his head again and pressed a kiss against Greg's ribs.

"Ohhh…" Greg grinned cheekily, raising a hand to caress Sherlock's cheek "so  _that's_  what the birthday boy wants for breakfast is it?"

"Mmm!" Sherlock replied enthusiastically, pressing more little open mouthed kisses against Greg's torso.

"Come up here then." Greg instructed, tugging gently at his arms until Sherlock had crawled up so that their faces were level and every inch of them from lips to toes was plastered together.

* * *

 

Sometime later, Greg strolled back into the bedroom wearing naught but an apron and a grin, carrying two plates of chocolate chip pancakes on a tray, together with a squirty bottle of golden syrup and a small, brightly wrapped package.

"Is that for me?" Sherlock asked, peering curiously at the package as Greg set the tray on his knees, removed his own plate and climbed back into bed.

"Of course it's for you. Who else would it be for?"

Sherlock shrugged, his hand hovering over his fork for a moment before darting out to pick up the package instead.

Greg grinned, "I bet you were up at three am every Christmas."

"Actually, two" Sherlock admitted, grinning "I used to crawl into Myc's bed and we'd exchange gifts there before everyone else woke up." He wriggled a finger under a fold of paper and pulled. Once the paper was torn away, Sherlock was left holding two things: a rectangular box, the corners smoothed and rounded, the whole thing covered in smoky grey velvet; and a small white envelope.

"Open the box first." Greg prompted, nibbling at his lip nervously. "It's a bit different."

Sherlock laid the envelope back on the tray and carefully flipped the box open. He sat for a few moment's staring at what was held within with a look of utter amazement, before he gingerly reached out and fingered the engraving on the silver cuff "Heartbeats..." He murmured, softly.

"Let me." Greg responded, reaching out to slip the cuff from its box. "Did you know that every heartbeat is unique?"

Sherlock nodded, dumbly.

"Course you did," Greg grinned, "this  _is_  you we're talking about." Sherlock cracked a small smile "There are four on here." Greg continued, fastening the cuff carefully around Sherlock's right wrist "See," he pointed out each one to Sherlock "this one's yours; this one's mine; that belongs to twin one" they had decided not to find out the sex of the babies until nature intended, so they were referred to as twin one and twin two. "and that's twin two's…" He tailed away, looking hesitantly at Sherlock for a reaction. "Do you like it?"

Sherlock finally raised his gaze from his wrist to Greg's face. "It's beautiful. Thank you…" He breathed, reaching up to place a kiss on his lips, small and chaste, but betraying more emotion for its simplicity. He glanced down again, fingers falling to trace the lines around his wrist, he paused "What's the date?" He asked, curiously

Greg coloured a little and hastily cleared his throat "Well, uh, it's the, uh, date of the, the party… So I suppose it's the date that we first…"

"Oh." Sherlock traced the numbers slowly. "You remembered that?"

"Oi, I wasn't that drunk you know!" Greg replied, grinning in his indignance "besides," He rubbed slow circles into the back of Sherlock's hand "it was important."

Sherlock leaned in and kissed him again, deeper this time.

"Open the envelope." Greg pressed, when they broke apart.

Sherlock obligingly picked up the stiff white envelope and slit it open. Inside was a square piece of deep blue card, a voucher for a free date engraving from a local jewellers. Sherlock looked up at him, enquiringly.

"I got them to leave a gap. So you can have their birth date put on, when we know it." Greg suddenly found himself on the receiving end of a hug so large he thought he might be swallowed up forever.

"This is too much…" Sherlock whispered in his ear

"I don't think it's enough." Greg replied, matter of factly, squeezing him gently.

"What did I do to deserve you?"

"I dunno, but it must have been pretty bloody horrible." Greg joked.

Sherlock gave him a light smack on the front of his shoulder, pulling away "Don't be a prat you, that's my job!"

"Happy birthday Sherlock." Greg replied, ruffling his lover's hair fondly. Sherlock grinned.

* * *

 

Greg was relatively sure he'd cooked it right, at least, it looked like it did when his mother made it. And it certainly smelt right. 'Can't go wrong with chicken noodle soup' he remembered his mother saying, although that might have been followed by 'on a cold day'… either way, he thought, shaking his head. He gave the pot of soup a quick stir, another sniff and a daring taste. Not bad, he thought grinning to himself as he decided it was done, not bad at all. He fished out a ladle and began ladling the soup into bowls. If they'd had a table he'd have set it, but he had at least made the TV dinner trays they would be eating off look quite nice, plus he'd shelled out for a fresh farmhouse loaf of bread instead of whatever was cheapest in the Spar. Good bread, good soup, good company. Perfect.

With a bit of jiggery pokery Greg managed to carry both trays in at the same time. Sherlock had just complimented him on his improving cooking skills when he paused, a strange look crossing his face.

"What?" Greg asked, looking slightly concerned.

The moment passed, Sherlock's expression cleared and he shook his head, "nothing, just felt a little odd for a moment, that's all."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Greg. I'm probably just hungry."

"Well… okay, if you're sure?"

"Don't fuss so, Greg. Eat your soup. It's lovely."

Greg obligingly took a spoonful of soup into his mouth. "Yeah, okay, if I do say so myself, that is pretty damn good."

"It really is." Sherlock agreed, smiling.

They chatted idly for a while, sometime distracted by the movie Sherlock had chosen. It had only been when Greg read the DVD cover that he realised that Sherlock had - and sheepishly confessed to - a bit of a soft spot for Madonna. 'Who's That Girl' was the perfect light, cheery movie to accompany the light, cheery meal. The DVD was half over and the plates clear before Sherlock paused mid-sentence - mid-word even - pulling that same face again, this time for a few seconds longer.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine." Sherlock insisted, the odd cloud already clearing form his face to be replaced by a smile

"Good." Greg hesitated, pushing a hand into his pocket to brush the little box concealed there and taking a deep, calming breath "Sherlock, there's something I wanted to ask you…"

"Can you hang on two minutes?" Sherlock asked, suddenly. "I've just got to nip to the loo."

"Uh, sure, okay…" Greg responded, surprised to see him get up quite quickly for a change.

"Greg…" Sherlock hadn't been gone long when Greg heard him calling out

"Yes love?"

"Greg… I think, I think my water just broke."

"Oh Christ, are you sure?" Greg exclaimed, getting to his feet hurriedly. Standing in the doorway to the bathroom, Sherlock gave him a look. "Yeah, okay, of course you are. Look, you call Myc, I'll go and get your bag okay?"

Sherlock nodded. "Okay." He reached for his phone and began to type Mycroft's personal number - he had promised to send a car to take them to the hospital - "Greg." He said, suddenly.

Greg half-turned back in the doorway "Yeah?

"We're about to have babies…"

"Yes we are." They both stared at each other for a long moment before Greg crossed and enveloped Sherlock in a hug.

* * *

 

"Are you okay?" Greg asked, as they got into the car Mycroft had sent.

"Are you?"

"Touche."

"What did you want to ask me?"

Greg thought about it for a moment "Oh, it'll keep." He assured the younger man, smiling gently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel cruel... but then I am ;)


	16. Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ** "Sherls… are you in the club?" Greg asked, in a low and gentle voice, a little like the one in which he had spoken to him that night when they were…  
> Shaking the thought from his head, Sherlock looked stricken for a moment, then replied, "Don't worry, I shan't be for much longer."  
> "You're… you're going to get rid of it?" Sherlock knew immediately that it had been the wrong thing to say. Greg looked as though he'd been kicked in the stomach. Twice. "Were you even going to talk to me?" The older boy demanded, wide eyed and serious faced.  
> Sherlock shrugged "What is there to talk about? It's practically taken care of." **
> 
> WARNINGS: MPREG. M/M. TEEN PREGNANCY.
> 
> Beta (and cover art when I've figured out how to put it in) by the amazing Capoeri, the John to my Sherlock, who this fic would never have made it so far without ;) Thanks for all the help and encouragement pet! :)

_'If you're a first-time mum_ ,' Greg had noted on his phone some months ago ' _active_   _labour may take about eight hours._   _It can be much shorter or longer than this, but is unlikely to last more than 18 hours.'_

Six hours in and Sherlock was definitely flagging. In fact, flagging might be an understatement. The nurse had just left to get the anaesthetist back to see why the epidural had had no effect, and Sherlock was begging, actually  _begging_  Greg to make it stop.

"If I could love, I would. I'm here, it's okay. Come on, hold my hand and try your breathing again-" Greg encouraged.

"Sod my breathing!" Sherlock exclaimed, gasping as another contraction took hold "Fucking distract me!" He demanded, increasing pressure on Greg's hand

"Uh…"

"Greg!" Sherlock almost yelped his name, sounding somewhat desperate.

"Okay, okay, shh!" Greg placated. "Here…" He leant forward and administered a smoochy film-star kiss, which certainly seemed to do the trick. At least, until they were interrupted by the return of the anaesthetist.

"Hello again, Mr. Holmes!" the dark haired man greeted his patient brightly, "let's have a look and see if we can't make you feel a bit better shall we?"

"Like I'm going to say no!" Sherlock replied, caustically. Greg glanced apologetically at the anaesthetist, who merely nodded in response to Sherlock's comment, his understanding smile saying he got it all the time.

There was a lot of umm-ing and ahh-ing, and even some flipping through Sherlock's records, before the anaesthetist looked up at Sherlock and said, seriously "Mr. Holmes, I think you may have some idea why the epidural is not working for you."

Greg turned his face to Sherlock for a second and was surprised to see him nodding with a resigned expression on his face

"The drugs." He replied, his voice expressionless.

"It's not uncommon for users of such drugs to find themselves immune to any form of pain relief."

"So there's nothing you can do?" Sherlock asked, almost desperately.

"I can give you something slightly stronger, but there's every possibility that won't make any difference either."

"Right. Well. Thank you." Sherlock very determinedly fixed his gaze anywhere but Greg, who waited patiently until the other man had done his job and left before he asking, very calmly

"When were you on drugs?"

"I…" Sherlock glanced at him and away again very quickly. "I got into it when I was thirteen."

"When did you get out of it?"

"Just after my sixteenth birthday."

"And you're not considering getting back into it?"

"Never." Sherlock replied, earnestly.

"Okay." Greg replied, easily, relaxing back into his seat.

"Okay?" Sherlock turned to stare at him in surprise.

"It's your past. Maybe you'll tell me about it when this is all over. Maybe you won't. It's not important right now."

"Really?"

"Really." Greg leant over to administer another kiss, only to have Sherlock nearly bite his tongue off when another contraction surprised him.

* * *

 

"Distract me!" Sherlock was begging again. Greg had been reminding him of happy times as distractions since the tongue-biting incident.

"Camber Sands." Greg replied, dredging out a stop they'd made on the way to London the day before they'd moved in, (they'd spent the night at Mycroft's flat in the city centre and moved into their own the next day), "We walked up the beach holding hands, and had our lunch laid on the dunes in the grass, and scared that little old lady and her dog witless snogging."

Sherlock managed a snort " _We_ scared  _the dog_? It landed on top of us!"

Greg chuckled "Yeah, well, the old dear looked pretty terrified."

"True." Sherlock conceded, then made a face as another contraction started. "Distract me…" He begged again.

"The first day we saw each other." Sherlock's brows knitted, obviously distracted "You were ten, Myc had dragged you to that summer club the school use to run."

"I hated it."

"It showed."

"They made me play football."

"You were on the other team."

"All the other boys tackled by kicking my shins. You didn't."

"I normally did. I fumbled it on purpose."

"Did you?"

"I didn't want to hurt you."

"Aww!" Said the midwife who was checking on the readout from one of the nearby machines. "Aren't you two sweet? Aren't they sweet John?" She addressed the trainee doctor who had entered the room with her a moment ago and was currently examining the same readout over her shoulder.

"Very sweet Liz." He replied, rolling his eyes. "Don't be put off guys, she coos over everything."

"It's why I became a midwife." Liz responded seriously, as she nudged her way past him and headed back out of the room.

"I want hot chocolate." Sherlock announced suddenly.

"What?" Greg asked, glancing away from the latest readout that John was examining.

"Hot chocolate." Sherlock repeated "Starbucks hot chocolate. I want one."

"Really? Now?" Greg replied, incredulously.

"Yes now. Greg, get me hot chocolate."

"I'm sure they have a machine…" Greg replied, placatingly

"No."

"They do, I saw it as we came i-"

"No! Not no  _they_   _don't have_  a machine! No  _not_   _from_  a machine! I  _said_!" Sherlock whined "I want  _Starbucks_  hot chocolate." John suppressed a grin, Sherlock was by far the most interesting expectant omega he'd met during this week's experience on the maternity ward.

"Sherlock where the hell am I supposed to get Starbucks hot chocolate?"

"Starbucks." Sherlock replied, as if it was obvious. "Where else?"

"It's two am love, there's nowhere open."

"I want one."

"Sherlock I can't-"

"I  _want_  one."

"Uh, sorry to butt in guys, but there's a Starbucks in the lobby that's open all night." John interrupted, trying really hard not to chuckle.

"Please?" Sherlock added, pouting at Greg.

Greg sighed and rose from his chair. In the doorway he turned back "Are you sure?"

"Greg, I am not having these babies until I get my Starbucks hot chocolate." Sherlock replied, stubbornly, making a show of crossing his legs under the blanket.

"Okay, okay!" Greg sighed and withdrew to hunt out this all-night Starbucks.

"With whipped cream and toffee sauce!" Sherlock called after him.

Greg resisted the urge to curse, rolling his eyes at a passing nurse, who gave him a sympathetic smile, instead.

" _Thank_ you!" Sherlock said to John, sincerely. "You have just saved my life!"

John chuckled at the exaggeration, "Anytime mate." He said lightly, as he left the room to check on the next omega on his list.

* * *

 

A short while later, (Sherlock was just finishing off his last mouthful of hot chocolate), Liz the midwife reappeared around the door.

"How are we feeling now Sherlock?" She asked, smiling her bright smiled.

Sherlock took a deep breath, handing the paper cup to Greg to toss in the bin, taking a moment to assess everything from his own heart rate and that of the twins, to the length of the gap between contractions "I think," He said, slowly "that I'm ready to push."

Liz did a quick exam, "When you're ready pet, go with it." she announced after a moment, and suddenly things began to move. Within just fifteen minutes, twin number one was about to be born, "One more should do it pet," Liz informed him "A-a-n-nd push! Keep-going-keep-going-keep-going-keep-going- that's it love!" there was a second of heart rendering silence and then twin one began proudly showing off its new set of lungs. "You have a little girl!" Liz informed them, lifting her onto Sherlock's chest, where she miraculously went quiet, regarding him with big blue eyes. Sherlock stared back at her. He'd thought all babies were tiny wriggling crying machines. How wrong he'd been. She was tiny, and she could cry alright, but at this precise moment she was so quiet and still… Then instinct kicked in and he curled his arms around her, tight but gentle. "Hello princess." He murmured, softly, pressing a kiss to her tiny wrinkled brow. "Look at her Greg!" Sherlock looked up at his lover to find him watching them with tears in his eyes. "Isn't she beautiful?"

Greg nodded mutely, moving closer to stroke her face. The little girl transferred her gaze to him and her waving hand suddenly grabbed at his, before settling on just his index finger, holding on with a grip that shocked him by its strength. It was then he finally found his voice "She's the most divine creature I've ever seen…" he said, almost brokenly, unable to shift his gaze.

"Do you want to hold her..? Only I think I'm going to have to have the other one now." Sherlock said, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly in amusement at the situation, in spite of the pain across his belly which was rapidly kicking back up a notch.

"Oh, er, right. Come here lovely."

"Support her head" Sherlock reminded him "And hold her tightly enough that she feels safe, but not too tightly."

"I've read the books too love, you concentrate on having number two, eh." Greg assured him, his eyes on the precious bundle in his arms. After a few moments of cuddling, Greg was also left to focus on Sherlock having number two as a nearby nurse whisked their new little girl over to the other side of the room to be weighed.

Immediately his attention was focused back on the midwife, he could tell there was something different, something - though he dreaded to think it - wrong this time.

"Sherlock my dear, do  _not_  push." Liz said "Twin two is breach, in this case that means that he or she is presenting feet-first. I need to correct see if I can correct that before we go any further."

Sherlock nodded his acknowledgement and shuddered a little as the midwife did some very interesting things inside him with forceps.

A few tense minutes past before Liz finally raised her eyes to Sherlock again "No, I'm afraid this one's a stubborn one and keeps sticking a foot down so that I can't complete the turn. We're going to have to deliver by Caesarean."

* * *

 

Sherlock kept breathing deeply as they practically flew down the corridor.

"Sherlock, are you out of it yet?" Greg asked suddenly. Sherlock had just had a general anaesthetic and while it  _was_  taking effect, he didn't yet feel out of it.

"Don't think so." He replied,

"This isn't really the best time, I know, and I swear I planned it to be smoother than this but I really need to ask you something…" Greg took a deep breath of his own "when this is all over… will you marry me?"

Sherlock gaped at him for a moment, then frowned "was that the anaesthetic? Am I hallucinating?" he asked suspiciously

Greg cracked a grin "no love, I'm serious."

"You want to marry me?"

"Of course i do"

Sherlock stared for another minute "Then yes." He replied, "But ask me 'gen when 'm not all…" he struggled for the right word before grinning in a dopey sort of way "wheeee." he finished decisively, just seconds before they reached the corner beyond which Greg could not follow.

"I love you."

"Mm, 'uv woo too Gweggie..." Sherlock replied, sleepily, turning his head to keep Greg in sight a moment longer. As ever, his love had a reassuring smile for him. God he'd make a wonderful cop, Sherlock found himself thinking, he was so reassuring is scary situations. He could feel the general anaesthetic dragging away his consciousness and was glad. The scariest part of this whole affair was that, as spinal anaesthetic had no effect on him, he was forced to have a general and the rules said that meant that Greg couldn't be present at the birth. That in itself made him… sad. But being alone in something… he hadn't been alone at any point during his entire pregnancy and… It was downright scary… he frowned. Like the giant rabbits he now noticed hopping alongside him down this tunnel. Funny that Greg hadn't mentioned them. Were rabbits qualified to deliver his baby? His last thought as the world around him faded to black was a very confused one: 'who let that giant fox into the rabbit-warren?'


	17. Seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ** "Sherls… are you in the club?" Greg asked, in a low and gentle voice, a little like the one in which he had spoken to him that night when they were…  
> Shaking the thought from his head, Sherlock looked stricken for a moment, then replied, "Don't worry, I shan't be for much longer."  
> "You're… you're going to get rid of it?" Sherlock knew immediately that it had been the wrong thing to say. Greg looked as though he'd been kicked in the stomach. Twice. "Were you even going to talk to me?" The older boy demanded, wide eyed and serious faced.  
> Sherlock shrugged "What is there to talk about? It's practically taken care of." **
> 
> WARNINGS: MPREG. M/M. TEEN PREGNANCY.
> 
> Beta (and cover art when I've figured out how to put it in) by the amazing Capoeri, the John to my Sherlock, who this fic would never have made it so far without ;) Thanks for all the help and encouragement pet! :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Capoeri and I google-ed boys names for over two hours. I may have come up with names for any future kids in any fic I ever write. Ever. Then I decided to use the names I planned to use in the first place. Typical. ;)
> 
> Thanks to Capoeri as always for the beta, she is wonderful and puts up with my plot-character-name-etc problems admirably. We salute you pet!
> 
> Also thanks to the wonderful person who suggested little girl baby's name, even if I did play with it a bit, I couldn't not use it, it was just too right!
> 
> Enjoy guys!

Greg stood in the middle of the corridor, watching the now sleeping form of the man that had for so long been his world disappearing through the swing doors of the operating theatre, aware that he was probably freaking out far too much over such a mainstream operation. He couldn't help worrying though, and he would for as long as Sherlock was out of his sight, however the hell long that was going to be!

"It's not a long op. Two or three minutes to birth once they've started. Twenty minutes or so and he'll be in recovery." The voice seemed to answer his very thoughts and, turning around, he recognised it's owner as John, the trainee doctor from earlier.

Greg tried for a smile, aware he'd probably failed. The older man - he couldn't be much more than twenty-one at most - observed him with a practiced eye.

"Why don't you come and have a look at your daughter while you wait? I'll show you the way." He offered with a warm smile.

Greg looked at him for a second and nodded, falling into step beside him as he led the way through the busy corridors.

Soon Greg was seated in the middle of the neonatal unit, where their baby girl had been placed for the moment, with said baby girl in his arms, feeling rather a lot calmer… even if she was staring at him again.

"Do you have a name picked out?" John asked

"We said Lucille for a girl." Greg gave a little grimace "Sherlock wanted an odd name."

"I can see why. How does a guy end up with a name like Sherlock?"

"By getting born to posh parents I s'pose. I mean, they called his brother Mycroft, so…"

"Lucille it is then."

"Yeah. We made a deal. He can give them odd names, but they have to be serviceable. She'll be Lucy for short." He gave his daughter a smile that showed John more emotions than just the joy of a new father. Maybe it was the tears in his eyes. They weren't an uncommon response. Becoming a parent did all sorts of things to even the most prepared people. Whatever it was it made John sit himself down on the seat beside Greg and ask

"How did you meet then, you and Sherlock?"

Greg looked startled "Oh, we, er, we went to school together."

"If it's not too much like sticking my nose in, can I ask whether I'm right in thinking that school wasn't all that long ago?"

"Mm." Greg nodded, "It's Sherls' eighteenth today, would you believe?"

"I guess he's got one helluva birthday present then."

Greg huffed an almost-laugh "I s'pose so."

There was silence for a moment or two, during which time Lucy's little eyelids fluttered and closed as she fell asleep in Greg's arms.

"It wasn't planned." Greg said, suddenly "All this." He nodded down at Lucy's sleeping form "It doesn't make it any less fantastic, it's just… it wasn't planned, y'know? I knew who Sherlock Holmes was, I'd played football with him as kids. I'd seen him around at school. I'd fancied him for yonks, even if I did keep it to myself. He had a reputation around school, but you know how far you can trust those. The only thing I really knew about him was his name before… well, there was a party. And I bet you've heard that before." He almost-laughed again. "Why am I telling you this? I've only known you five minutes."

"Because I have a nice face. That's what my Gran says anyway. I promise I won't blab your secrets to anyone." John gave him a smile that Greg somehow automatically trusted.

"Thanks." He replied, looking awkwardly away. His gaze settled on Lucy, dreaming in his arms.

"Lucy Lestrade-Holmes…" He mused aloud "Lucy Holmes-Lestrade." He looked thoughtful for a moment more and then shook his head "Whichever." His eyes roved across her, drinking her in "Lucy, seven pounds, four ounces of perfect." He said, solemnly, bending himself at an awkward angle to place a kiss on her tiny pink forehead. "Christ I'm a dad." He added, as an afterthought.

"Just hitting you is it?" John enquired with a grin

"I'm a dad to one and I'm about to be a dad to one more." Greg replied in astonishment, half to himself. "Bloody hell, what have I got myself into?!" He looked at John with wide eyes "I'm a  _Dad._  I'm not even twenty for another four months! I'm a  _Dad._ "

"Breathe mate." John advised. "And if you're going to freak out, put little Lucy down first."

Greg sat stock still for a minute or so and then rose to his feet and gently laid Lucy back in her cot. For a few seconds longer he just stood and stared at her. "I wouldn't change her for the world."

"I sense a but coming on." John replied, calmly.

"But…" Greg teetered on the brink of speech and then the tidal wave hit and he found himself just spewing words, tumbling over one another in their haste to escape him. And John just let him talk. "What if we made the wrong call? What if we can't  _be_  parents? How can we be when we're just kids ourselves? Sherls hasn't even finished school yet… and I'm barely bloody home what with work and college and that's only going to get more demanding when I start work properly and… Oh bloody hell!" He cursed and and turned to storm out of the ward into the corridor.

John got to his feet and followed him, more to make sure he didn't get lost than because he actually knew what to say to him, and perhaps because he knew - somewhere deep in his gut - that having someone to say this stuff to would help more than mere words could manage.

And so Greg led them through the corridors, turning left and right seemingly at random; and all the time there was John, a comforting presence at his shoulder, not touching him, never speaking, just there. Occasionally Greg would turn to him and say something like: "I'm a dad. Me.  _I'm_ a  _dad!_ " or: "If Sherlock goes off chasing serial killers with my kids in tow I'll have to kill him." and finally: "What do I know about babies? I mean I was five when Molly was born… I didn't have to  _do_  anything. What do I know about  _these_  babies?"

"You know that they're yours." John replied, quietly.

Greg stopped dead in the middle of the corridor - thankfully it was deserted - and turned to look at John as if he'd only just realised he was there. "Yeah, they are mine aren't they?"

John simply nodded.

"I need to pull myself together don't I?"

"Kind of. Sherlock should be out of surgery pretty soon, if he isn't already."

"Right." Greg took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. "Okay, I'm better now. Thanks for listening and… well, that." He replied, with a proper smile.

"Anytime. Everyone needs a breakdown occasionally."

* * *

 

Back in maternity Sherlock was feeling rather blurry. He had a feeling, only intensified by the expression on Greg's face as he slowly came into focus at his bedside, that there was something very important he should be remembering about now.

Greg perched on the edge of his love's bed and watched him blink, slow and bleary-eyed up at him.

"Hey Daddy." Greg said, employing his ever-ready grin. And just like that, all at once, Sherlock remembered. The haziness of the drug disappeared almost instantly in favour of a bolt of adrenalin.

"Where are my babies? Did the rabbits get them? Or was it the fox? I knew there was something fishy about the fox…"

Greg raised an eyebrow. "It's a hospital Sherls, not a zoo…" he shook his head "I think you had some fun with the anaesthetic love, but the babies are fine. Look, I've just been getting acquainted with this little guy." He carefully raised the little blue blanket-wrapped bundle that he had been cradling in his lap so that Sherlock could see their dark-haired little boy

"Oh Greg, he'd beautiful! He's got your eyes!" Sherlock exclaimed, struggling up into a sitting position with a slight wince and reaching out his arms for him

"C'mon Jassy, go to your Da-da." Greg said softly to the little boy as he passed him across

"Jasper Lestade-Holmes." Sherlock said the name almost reverently "How much does he weigh?"

"Six pound ten. Just a shade less than our Lucy-goosey, who might just-" He rose and peered into the occupied crib on the other side of Sherlock's bed "yes, be awake by now." He smiled and slipped round to the other side of the bed to pick her up "C'mon little princess, come to Daddy."

And that was the moment that seemed to stretch on forever, cradling a baby each in a dawn so fresh and new that they seemed to be the only people in the whole world. In the next few hours there would be stories told of their Granny, their Auntie Molly and their Uncle Mycroft that would suddenly remind them that Greg should probably go and call all those people and tell them the twins were here; then there'd be family photos taken by helpful nurses, one of which poor John would be roped into; there would be visiting family and cooing and smiles and various versions of 'Blow me if Molly wasn't bloody well right!'. But for now, there was just them, smiling in their own little bubble where nothing was wrong and all the cares they had to come had not yet been thought of. Their shining moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do have plans for a sequel, guys, although it's not really got much further than the planning stages, so any prompts for the little family's future are more than welcome as i only have a few chapters worked out at best at the mo. ty! :)


	18. Eighteen

Molly Lestrade was fifteen when her brother met Sherlock Holmes at a party. She'd known from the first that the omega boy was going to be special, so she couldn't really claim to be surprised when they'd skipped dating and moved straight on to starting a family. They were happy, any fool could see that. Besides, Molly had loved her baby-dolls almost as much as her brother had, and the twins were far more adorable! She'd been staying over most weekends since the twins had been born just helping out and generally trying to be the best damn Auntie any kid anywhere had ever had. Nearly two months had passed since the twins and Sherlock's joint birthday, (October 5th) and somehow she didn't think that her plans for this weekend fitted in with her auntie-duties at all. Perhaps she could call it part of her 'sister-in-law-to-be' duties… she pondered. Either way, the outcome would (hopefully at least) be the same. It had all started with a conversation she overheard at three am on one Sunday morning in November...

**The sofa was not the most comfortable of resting places, if Molly was honest (not that she'd ever tell her brother that) so she rather thought that, as she stirred for about the fifth time that night, she must be the only one awake enough to hear the unmistakeable noises of a baby that was not so much crying as fretting, that drifted from the nursery. Well, she thought to herself as she slipped to her feet, Greg and Sherlock could do with a decent night's sleep for once. She padded across the living room, her feet making no sound on the carpet that was softer than it looked. She reached for the door handle but was brought up short by the unmistakable sound of Sherlock's voice emanating from beyond the wood.**

**"- always been the same. Can't handle babies."**

**"But you two are so close." Greg's voice replied, "He must miss you."**

**"I wouldn't know."**

**"He handled you, when you were a baby, didn't he?"**

**"Yes. He said I was different, because I was blood."**

**"Well, they're blood too. They must be different as well."**

**"There we go!" Sherlock's voice suddenly turned brighter, Molly guessed he was addressing one of the twins "All done, Princess, no more tears now." The next few moments were filled with sounds of soft cooing and movement, then the familiar tinkling tune of one of the mobiles that hung above each of the cots; then silence for a few minutes.**

**A sigh was the next sound she heard, "Sherls?" her brother's voice asked, gentle and low.**

**"It would appear, from his continued absence that no, my brother does not think that they are also 'different', really, wouldn't it?" His voice was bitter and hard in a way that Molly had never heard from him.**

**There was a moment's silence before Greg replied "Come here love."**

**Molly returned to her makeshift bed and pretended to be asleep until she'd heard the boys return to bed. Once the door clicked shut behind them she had rolled over on to her back, eyes wide. So, Mycroft hadn't been around since the twins had arrived, she thought, turning things over slowly in her mind. Well, that was going to have to change, she decided, and with that, she begun to plan.**

**Greg went out the following morning. Molly got brave and asked Sherlock, casually enough, whether she would get to see his brother this weekend. The short, terse 'I doubt it' she received in return was enough for her to ask.**

**"Have you two had a row or something?" Sherlock stared at her, his eyes narrowing.**

**"You overheard us last night."**

**Molly had two choices, she knew. Lie and hope to fool Sherlock, a pretty mean feat if she could pull it off, or agree and hope he didn't read anything more into her inquiries. "Yeah." She admitted**

**"Then you know the answer to that question."**

**"Yeah I do. Why don't you call on him?"**

**"Why should I?"**

**"I dunno… I was just trying to help."**

**"Well, thank you for your concern, but it's fine. We're fine without him." Sherlock's voice was firm. Molly didn't believe him for a second.**

**"Don't you miss him?"**

**Sherlock gazed at her for a second and then dropped his gaze to Jasper in his lap, his face softening. "Of course I do."**

That moment had set her firmly on the course that she'd plotted out in the dark that night. If Sherlock hadn't cared, if he truly hadn't cared, maybe she would have let it lie. But he did. He did care, and that meant that Auntie Molly was not going to let Uncle Mycroft wriggle out of his duties as Uncle.

And now the time had come to put her plan into action. She was sitting in the rocking chair in the nursery, feeding Jas, while Sherlock clucked about (there really was no other word for it) in the kitchenette, getting Lucy her bottle ready. Now, she thought, picking up her phone and thanking her lucky stars she could text one handed, now was the moment. She called up the ready-drafted first message to Mycroft Holmes. She'd gotten the number off Greg for 'emergencies'. In Molly's book, not having met your niece and nephew counted as an emergency.

At sherlocks. Need help. Plz come. x

_Molly? What's wrong?_

Need help. Plz come. x

_What kind of help? Is everyone okay?_

Ur help. And no1 is likely 2 die. x

_Molly Lestrade, just what on earth is going on over there?_

No1 else can do this but u. Plz will u just come? x

Molly knew she was playing a dangerous game with a government official. If she hadn't reassured him enough she could end up with the police on the doorstep. If she had reassured him too much… well, if his IQ was even half as much as his little brother's, he'd figure out exactly what she was doing and not come at all.

The reply didn't come for the longest time.

_I trust I need not alert the army on my way?_

Molly suppressed a chuckle as she quickly typed back a message assuring him that, no, they wouldn't be needing an army, just their little corner of the British Government.

* * *

 

Jas and Lucy had both finished their bottles, Greg had arrived home and they were all sitting in the front room, Molly in the armchair amusing Jas by blowing raspberries on his tummy, and Greg and Sherlock on the sofa, Greg cooing over Lucy, who was kicking and making adorable giggly noises in Sherlock's arms. When the knock at the door that only Molly was expecting finally came, she stayed where she was and let Greg go, listening hard, her heart pounding. This next bit, she had to time just right…

"Hey Sherlock, you'll never guess who it is!" Greg exclaimed as he stepped back out of the tiny hallway.

Molly let him get just past her and then stood up, "Back in a tick." She announced, brightly, heading for the door and nearly colliding with Mycroft, still in his coat. "Ooh Myc, great timing! Here, have Jas while I nip in the loo." She swiftly handed the baby over, and, once certain Mycroft had hold of him, practically fled into the bathroom. It would be obvious now, but if it worked… well, she'd take the ribbing she'd get from the brothers and welcome it.

Meanwhile, beyond the bathroom door, Mycroft Holmes was looking, for the first time that Sherlock could remember, slightly shell-shocked.

"He's a baby, Myc." Sherlock said, a trace of amusement colouring his voice.

Mycroft looked up at his brother and down at Jasper, and up at his brother and back down at Jasper, then took a wobbly step forward and sank into Molly's abandoned chair, completely missing the chance of any kind of comeback.

For a while it seemed that he and Jasper were having some kind of staring match. Nobody spoke. Even Lucy was silent.

"Hmm. He looks like you, Sherlock." Mycroft remarked eventually. "Hello, small person." He greeted his nephew, trying and failing not to smile.

Greg and Sherlock exchanged grins. Molly, listening at the bathroom door celebrated by pumping her fist in the air and mouthing a silent 'Yessssssssss!'

* * *

 

When Molly finally dared venture out from the bathroom, she was fixed with a stare that made her feel decidedly awkward.

"I take it this was the 'help' that you had in mind, Miss Lestrade?" Mycroft enquired innocently. Both Sherlock and Greg turned to stare at her.

Molly squared her shoulders and met the stare, "No one else can do special Uncle-duties. Unless you two have a brother you're not telling us about?." She looked from one brother to the other "No? Well good. Now for god's sake, swap babies so Lucy doesn't get jealous of Uncle Mycroft's attention."

Mycroft chuckled. "Well played my dear. Well played indeed."


	19. Nineteen

"Mycroft?"

He must be dreaming. There was no way this familiar voice could be calling him here. Mummy wasn't even speaking to him after 'that stunt' he had pulled getting Sherlock and company away that day. Eight months had passed without a single word. He, Mycroft Holmes, the British Government and the Queen's right arm, was hearing things.

"Mycroft? Oh Mycie, please? Please just listen to me for a moment?"

The tug on his sleeve forced him to admit that he was not, in fact, hearing things. "Mummy?" He asked, stupidly. After a moment of doing his best (and ultra-rare!) goldfish impression, he regained his senses "May I suggest we reconvene in my office?"

Mummy nodded mutely and followed him as he turned back towards the lift.

Anyone in the lobby as the two walked away would later chuckle about the "And don't call me Mycie in public!" that wasn't quite drowned by the swish of the lift doors closing behind them.

* * *

 

"What do you want?" Mycroft's voice was hard and cold as he turned on his mother the moment the office door clicked shut behind them. The British Government he might be, but that did not mean he appreciated being abandoned by his own mother for doing her job and protecting Sherlock from Siger.

"I've left your father."

That was the last thing Mycroft had expected to hear. He didn't let his surprise show "Is that so?"

"I'm not here for your help, if that's what you think." She said, firmly.

"I'm glad to hear it."

"I just… I regret losing you boys."

"I see."

"You've done a wonderful job of raising Sherlock." She said, sincerely. Mycroft couldn't quite suppress his surprise this time and raised an eyebrow to cover it "You were brave enough to stand up for yourself and gracious enough to stand up for him too. I was not. I can never apologise to you boys enough for my failings as a mother, you especially with the pressures of taking care of him thrust upon you on top of everything else."

Mycroft made no agreement or disagreement, but his voice was slightly thawed when he asked "Why did you leave him? What tipped the balance?"

"He disinherited you both."

"I was aware." Mycroft replied, neatly and precisely crossing his legs as he gave a small, wry smile.

"I didn't believe he would take it so far. I truly thought he would get over this little… silliness."

"I fear that may have been a tad optimistic, Mummy dear."

"I see that now." She gazed at him for a long moment. "Do you think I might ever get my sons back?"

Mycroft regarded her carefully for a moment. "Perhaps we may not be entirely out of reach." He concluded eventually.

* * *

 

"You're kidding." Greg stared at Mycroft like he was out of his mind. "You're even considering giving her our address, after all she put him through? Seriously Mycroft! How can you even think of-" Greg tailed off as Mycroft nodded at Sherlock who was sitting beside him, one arm cradling Lucy while she gobbled down her bottle, his grey-blue eyes misty and gazing into his lap. "Sherls?"

"What?"

"Do you want to see your Mum?"

"She's my mother. Of course I do."

"Oh. Okay. I didn't mean to take over, I just… well, if you want to see her then I guess we'd better see her."

Sherlock looked up to half smile at him, then turned to his brother "But not here." He clarified. Mycroft raised a questioning eyebrow. "I'm not doing another flit with the twins if this all goes... If it doesn't go well."

Mycroft nodded agreeably.

"And I don't want the twins there. If she wants to see me, she can see  _me_. I must know that she's sincere.

"I'm sure Mum'll have them. It's any excuse these days." Greg put in.

"Then I shall arrange something at the club." Mycroft promised with another nod, before departing.

"Sherls…" Greg murmured, pleadingly

"I thought she'd stay with him forever. I thought she'd try to be my omega role model forever. Maybe I can be hers instead Greg."

"Maybe."

"You don't think so." Sherlock accused

"I don't want you hurt again." Greg countered, firmly.

"You don't want me to meet her."

"I said, if you want to see her, then we should see her."

"You'll come too?"

"Well I dunno," Greg began, his tone amused "but I don't  _think_  Mycroft's gonna hold your hands on the way, and you know how cold they get when you're panicky… so I really  _have_  to come." Greg grinned, cheekily. It was a lame excuse and they both knew it. They didn't need it, and they both knew that too, but it sure as hell lightened the mood.

"Yes you do. Can't have cold hands." Sherlock agreed, grinning as Greg leaned over Lucy to kiss him. "Behave. I have a baby and I'm not afraid to use it." He joked

Greg chuckled. "Babies. The ultimate contraceptive." Jasper chose that moment to start grizzling "See." Greg said, hauling himself up to go to the squalling infant.

* * *

 

"Do you want to go in first?" Greg glanced at Sherlock "Myc and I can hang about out here if you do."

"No. All together or not at all." Sherlock said firmly. He looked a little green now the moment had actually come.

"Right here Sherls." Greg reminded him softly, taking his icy hand in his own again and squeezing reassuringly. Sherlock squeezed back as Mycroft swung open the double doors to the room he held at the club for his private use.

"Mummy dear." Mycroft greeted the woman Greg had only met once as she stood from the chair by the fireplace.

"Mycroft!" She greeted him with a hug and a kiss on his cheek; then turned to Sherlock who stood almost hopelessly in the doorway. Greg kept a tight hold of his hand, offering his support in the only way he could - by sharing his warmth.

"Mummy." Sherlock almost choked on the word.

"Sherlock, darling." She looked at him almost as hopelessly. "Can you ever forgive me?"

Sherlock stood for a long long moment and Greg feared they may have to stop him dashing out of the building. "I'm here. One must suppose that means I'm willing to at least try." Sherlock replied, finally. His voice was calm and even and his emotions were betrayed only to Greg, who kept his grip on Sherlock's hand despite its cold and unpleasantly clammy state.

"That is more than I could have hoped for."

"I know maybe this isn't my place, but what did you hope for, after all this time?" Greg asked, with genuine interest.

"A fair question, Gregory, which it is most certainly your place to ask.I hoped I might at the very least succeed in re-opening the channels of communication with my sons. In the long run, I should be pleased if they were willing to call themselves my sons again. And yourself my son-in-law, of course."

Greg's eyebrows shot up. "You've changed your tune!" he blurted in disbelief

"Greg!" Sherlock hissed, years of habit reasserting itself after just a few minutes. No one must be 'rude' to Mummy.

"No no, Sherlock, he's right." his mother replied soothingly. She turned and addressed Greg again "In answer, young man, I can tell you only that I have been playing an outdated stereotype for far too long. I have seen that now. Of my husband, I can only despair. For his behaviour, and for mine, on that first occasion that we met, I cannot apologise enough. We were incredibly unfair, and horribly prejudiced, to both of you," her gaze flicked to Sherlock "when you were simply trying to do what was best for your children."

It was Sherlock's turn to blurt in surprise this time "Did you just apologise?" he goggled at her

"It is not impossible Sherlock." She said, fighting an amused smile. "Let's sit down shall we?" She added, gesturing back towards the fireplace.

* * *

 

Sherlock and Greg conversed in silence with their eyes on the journey home. It wasn't that they didn't want to talk in front of Mycroft, it was merely that they could discuss without words the events of the past hour with far more success than clumsy words would allow. They're conversation came to an end with a swift nod on Sherlock's part before Greg broke the silence with a very thoughtful:

"I wonder if mum's remembered why she stopped having kids yet…"

Sherlock snorted, "If you ate like ours do, I should imagine it was because her bank balance would not stretch to another gargantuan appetite." He said, the harshness of his words softened by a fond smile.

Greg merely swatted him lightly on the arm and then settled an arm around his shoulders.

* * *

 

It was only once they'd picked up the twins and were home safe that Sherlock slid his phone from his pocket and tapped out the message they'd agreed upon.

**_Today was enjoyable. Perhaps we should do it again sometime. - SH_ **

He paused for a moment and then hit send and returned his phone to his pocket with a smile. He'd tried. Maybe she'd be around, maybe she wouldn't, but at least for now, everything seemed to finally be going their way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. That's the end, for now at least. Please review, I love to hear from you ;)


End file.
